Rook
by CornerOfYourEye
Summary: "You're way too trusting, kid. Just because I called your wand a stick doesn't mean I'm not a wizard." Helping a wounded stranger has unforseen effects. In return Harry gets some solid advice, Snape gets a rival and Albus is shaken. Meanwhile in Knockturn Alley's most infamous bar a man is carving out his own side in the war. Disguises, dreams, oaths and loyalties. HPB AU NO SLASH
1. Prologue: Of Alleys And Gutters

**Summary:** AU of the Half Blood Prince. When Harry helps a wounded stranger in Privet Drive this has unforseen consequences. He gets some solid advice, Snape gets a rival and Albus is shaken by something. Meanwhile in Knockturn Alley's most infamous bar a man is carving out his own side in the war. Disguises, dreams, oaths and loyalty.

**Rating:** T (for now)

**Pairings:** Probably canon, it won't be something exotic nor will it be the emphasis.

**Characters:** Harry Potter and Severus Snape will be the main focus along with the OC, but they will not be together! I don't dislike slash (well written, mind you...) but I'm not feeling it for this story.

**Disclaimer:** JKR owns the characters. I own my mistakes... There are already many HBP AU's on this site and now I'm adding my own. What I'm trying to say is, don't expect me to be highly original. I write because I enjoy it and go where the story leads me.

**Updates**: Important, I know. I'm honest, it will fluctuate between three weeks or a month and a half even. Longer pauses will probably happen, but I'll give you a fair warning.

**Reviews**: Constructive criticism is much appreciated. I'm fully aware that improvement is needed but often lack knowledge about the direction. That's where you come into the picture... Just, please don't flame. It's not cordial behaviour and something that I gravely dislike about the Internet.

* * *

**Prologue: Of Alleys And Gutters  
**

Knockturn Alley was a place to be avoided during the day except if you required rare and priceless items of questionable origin. You'd hurry along and be about your business as quickly as possible while keeping a firm hand on your bag of galleons. At night though, when shutters are shut and doors barred, no honest wizard or witch had any reason to venture into the Alley. The persistent fog dimmed the street lanterns and muffled the occasional footsteps. A sudden wail pierced the darkness as two cats started to hiss and fight. They puffed and yowled before a well aimed curse send from an above window scared them off.

Across the narrow alley tucked in between Cobb & Webb's and The Spiny Serpent was a low wooden door almost hidden from view. A nearly crumbled sign hung above it and squeaked with every cold passing breeze. The letters were faded long before the current owner won this establishment in a bet, but 'Nettle' Juceau never bothered to repaint it. It was simple really. Those who knew the name had business there. The others… Well, they could piss off.

After descending four worn down steps Knockturn Alley seemed lively again. Here, behind the door of Juceau's place, bets were made and lost on everything that had a name, wands were drawn with the slightest provocation and longtime friendships were rekindled by every next glass of Firewhiskey. Information gets haggled under the tables, enemies were found easily by the merest funny look in the wrong direction and at the end of the night, when the sun had risen and your bag of galleons was remarkably lighter or gone, you'd never even remember if you accomplished what you set out to do in the first place. If it was just to have a drink or talk to a guy who knows a guy who can do the job. In the end all you know is that you're in dire need of a bath and some hangover potion. You also know that you'll be back if needed, because there's no better place than Juceau's to find what you're seeking.

* * *

The door opened and quickly closed again in order to keep the fog and coldness outside. Juceau looked up and received a nod from the entering stranger. He didn't know him even when the man drew back his hood and freed his tousled dark hair. It was tied together at the back, but done without caring about the final result. He tugged his black gloves off – it was unbelievably cold for a July night – and a second later they disappeared underneath the man's robes. A single red lined scar marked the man's otherwise unblemished face and made him fit right in. Juceau's gaze lowered next to the man's boots. They were worn but not ruined, again serving as a sign of disinterest in appearance. Juceau nodded back and poured out another drink. From the corner of his eye he saw how the stranger seemingly vanished in the many nooks and corners of his tavern. A second later the glass he just poured was emptied again and Juceau rolled his eyes at the familiarity.

"I shouldn't tell you _votre affaires_, Spore, but drinking at that rate will make me a huge profit tonight and send you into an early grave. Then tell me where I would be _sans_ my best client?"

Spore was an old and graying man with a sharp eye and an even sharper wit when sober. He always looked unhealthy. He had a pale yellow skin and his fingernails turned darker with every passing year. He blamed the fumes, Juceau still blamed the alcohol. "Is that all there's, Juceau? Being a good drunk and profitable?"

"You bring your clients with you as well." The barkeep admitted matter-of-factly pouring himself and Spore another drink. "To profit, riches and the end of _la guerre_." He glanced at a crumpled copy of the Prophet. War was good for business for a while until it got bloody serious. Dead men don't drink.

"I'll drink to that." The stranger heaved himself upon a bar stool placing himself next to Spore and tapped the counter signaling Juceau to bring him something as well. The barkeeper obliged while the old man looked up and down deciding whether this stranger had any business here before shrugging indifferently, "You're paying."

The stranger laid some galleons on the counter. "I hear you're the best potion maker in the Alleys."

"Not the best, stranger." Spore twirled the coins between his potion stained fingers, "But I don't ask any questions." Juceau took one of the galleons and left the rest for Spore, no doubt they'll find their way into his hands later this night.

"No names?" The stranger asked clarifying that he wasn't just making small talk. Spore perked up and came closer.

"Only the name of the potion and gold to satisfy my curiosity. Though if you want me to call you by something else than 'stranger', you'll need to give me a suggestion."

The man grinned, "You'll think of something appropriate, I trust."

"_Vous preferez 'inconnu'?" _Juceau commented and tsked_, "_My dear man_, avec cette attitude vous mourrez certainement _before the dawn_. L'inconnu est dangereux à l'heure actuelle comme un poignard masqué dans la nuit."_

"_Qui ne craint point la mort ne craint point les menaces."_ The stranger cited with a grin. The barkeeper was silent for a moment. Then he barked out a laugh. _"C'est vraiment."_

"Juceau," Spore protested annoyed, "you're laying it on very thick tonight and while the gentleman here is unfazed by your strange sounds…" The old man pretended he had gotten a headache, "I don't understand a word you're saying. Just give me another drink." Spore bemoaned his ill fate rather comically.

"To not being able to speak French." The old man toasted to no one in particular and downed the whiskey in one gulp.

"Or to refrain from doing so." Juceau added still smirking, "I'm sorry stranger, but your accent is terrible. Let's talk English, _oui_?"

The stranger raised his glass to that with another good-natured nod. Juceau strolled off to serve some others still mumbling and going on about butchering fine languages . The stranger turned around leaning back against the counter. He took another sip and pointed discreetly around the room.

"I'm not the only one you know." He whispered conspiratorially and Spore huddled a bit closer. "There are at least three men here under a glamour and do you see that man swaying across the room?"

Spore nodded. "Polyjuice Potion." The stranger stated and the old man gave him a questionable look. "He could just be drunk."

"Mm, maybe…" The stranger clearly didn't agree. Spore shrugged, who was he to argue with the man currently buying his liquor?

"What about him?" The potion maker asked inclining his head in a very general direction, "That guy's giving me the creeps." He explained.

"You're going to be a little more specific with this crowd."

"The one sitting at the exit, black hood, staring in this direction for the last couple of minutes."

"He's sleeping." Juceau interrupted their conversation and poured Spore another drink.

"I'm telling you he's watching me." The man insisted. Juceau frowned a bit worried. "Listen, when was the last time you got some rest?"

"No, he's right." The stranger interrupted him this time. Their conversation had gotten attention and now the three others sitting at the bar were observing the hooded man with disdain and suspicion. The stranger got up, "The man's being impolite. I'm going to talk to him."

"Stranger," Juceau called him back halfway there, "Take it outside, your 'talk'. It's just after midnight." He said making it clear he didn't want a brawl this early in the evening. The man nodded and without pause stalked towards the exit grabbing the hooded man in one swipe and pushed him forcefully out of the door.

The shocked man tripped on the stairs and landed heavy on the cobblestones. Before he had time to process that he wasn't inside anymore, he was already pushed up against a wooden fence. Soaked posters stuck to his hair when his hood fell down. Two strong hands held him up so the startled man couldn't even reach for his wand.

This wasn't good and Auror Moore cursed his luck. He wasn't even interested in this man. He was just minding his own business and doing a good job at it. Well, not so good or he wouldn't have been hauled out into the cold night.

"How long have you been an Auror?" The man holding him asked in a whisper. It didn't sound threatening. The man seemed to be just stating a fact, but Moore was completely caught off guard.

"What are you-" He started trying to wrench out of the vice like grip. The stranger took a step closer and hissed, "Listen, you were almost revealed and that crowd in there is very wary tonight. Do you understand?"

He paused staring intently at Moore and the Auror had to stop himself from squirming under that gaze. It felt as if he was undergoing a lecture. His assailant wasn't finished though, "They will _all _look in the other direction if need be." The man emphasized and released his grip on Moore.

The Auror stumbled clumsily against the fence in an attempt to stay upright. He was confused and definitely not calm so he did the next logical thing: he took out his wand. The stranger backed off a few steps holding up his hands showing he was unarmed.

"Go home Auror," He said as if he was used to giving orders, "and kiss your wife goodnight. Tell your superiors to send back-up in the future."

With that he turned around, _turning _his back on an armed Auror and went back down the stairs. Moore heard noise and laughter when the door briefly opened again. A moment later he was standing alone in a quiet Knockturn Alley. He sighed. He had an interesting report to write and was getting a migraine. He walked a few yards further from the entrance and Apparated away with a _pop_.

* * *

"You took care of him?"

"Scared him away," Spore got his answer as the stranger sat back down next to him, "I didn't ask his business. If you owe him money you'll no doubt see him again."

"Ah, too bad." The old man shrugged and watched how the stranger slipped him a piece of parchment next. He read it silently and frowned a bit disappointed, "You want me to brew that?"

The stranger nodded. Spore sighed, "It's bad business maybe, but you do know you can get this at St. Mungo's?"

"But they ask questions."

"True." The potion maker agreed.

"And they will give me the standard stuff." The man went on. Ah, this sounded more like it. Spore rubbed his hands in anticipation, "Personalized uh?"

"Can you increase the concentration of _Papaver somniferum_, but nullify its side-effects?"

"You like to have a clear head?"

"I like to keep it firmly on my shoulders, yes."

Spore looked at the piece of paper again and you could see him running numbers in his mind.

"Give me three weeks and twenty galleons. That should be enough for fifteen dosages." He stuck out his hand. His newest customer was meeting him halfway before he stopped, his hand frozen midair. "You can do it in two and I'll need twenty."

Spore sighed and nodded reluctantly. At least he wasn't doing business with someone without a backbone. Juceau who had been listening close by, turned around and patted the old man on the shoulder while he and the stranger shook hands. "_Touché_, Spore."

"Stranger," Juceau continued, "I like the way you play the game. Yet I'm curious, what's your expertise?"

"Mmm, a direct question." The man's eyes suddenly shone with amusement as he paused for a second, "I'm currently in the business of procuring certain valued artefacts." He answered vaguely after the pause.

"So if I hear of someone in need of your set of odd skills…" Juceau trailed off expectantly. The stranger sighed pleased and fished a card from between his layered dark robes.

Juceau took it turning it around in his hands, "Two rooks?" He asked referring to the castles imprinted on the paper with the number of a contact box at the Hogsmeade Owlery underneath and waited for an explanation.

"Why not?" The stranger replied vaguely and bade them farewell after deciding on a delivery date with Spore.

"It's fitting." Juceau murmured as he watched the man's retreating back. He put the card away with the hundreds of others he procured over the years and went back to cleaning some glasses, "What did you think of our newest stranger?"

"Him? He pays well, was wearing a glamour and could probably brew that potion himself." The old potion maker summarized and turned over his glass on the bar.

"I need another drink, Juceau." Spore said tiredly rubbing his temples and put a couple of Sickles on the counter, his mind already distracted by the sight of more liquor.

* * *

**Next is the first real chapter, this was just a teaser...**

**Papaver Somniferum **is the Latin of the Opium Poppy. It has sedative properties and morphine is the most well known legal derivative.

**Translation of the French parts:**

_Votre affaires_: your business  
_Sans_: without  
_La guerre_: the war  
_Vous preferez 'inconnu'? _My dear man_ , avec cette attitude vous mourrez certainement _before the dawn_. L'inconnu est dangereux à l'heure actuelle comme un poignard dans la nuit.: _You prefer 'stranger'? My dear man, with that kind of attitude you'll die for certain before the dawn. The unknown is dangerous at these present times like (or similar to) a shrouded dagger in the night.  
"_Qui ne craint point la mort ne craint point les menaces.": _Those who don't fear death, don't fear threats as well. (This is quoted from P. Corneille, _Le Cid.)  
_"_C'est vraiment.": _Well said (or that's true.)


	2. A Front Lawn Meeting

**Chapter 1: A Front Lawn Meeting**

A cerulean night sky shaded darker and darker with every passing minute. The street lights sprang alive mirroring the sparse stars that could be seen above Surrey already. A dark haired teenager pulled the door close behind him with a soft bang which echoed much louder across the quiet street than he expected it to. He looked around but no curious neigbours stuck their noses out. He sighed and inhaled deeply.

The brisk air did wonders for his befuddled brain. Any longer in that house and he might have gone insane. Harry kicked a pebble and watched it soar through the air. It bounced two times and after which it stilled again with a shudder a few yards away. He sighed and sauntered on, following the stone's trajectory. His hands were pushed deep in his pockets and his shoulders were pulled up uncomfortably although he didn't notice the latter. For any observer though his stressful thoughts were obvious from his posture.

He kicked the stone again and sighed deeply. Harry was bored. And when he wasn't bored he was anxious. Sirius' death weighed heavy on his heart. Stupid, stupid that's what he was.

The days following the fiasco at the Ministry had passed in a daze. And before he knew it the school year had ended, the Hogwarts Express entered King's Cross Station and his friends had said goodbye. Now he was alone again in secluded safety... _Pffffff_.

On the bright sight he knew this summer was going to be better than the last. The shock on Vernon's face when the colourful Order members confronted him was something Harry conjured up every time he needed to amuse himself. He chuckled weakly and kicked the stone a bit further. It had to be better this year. His friends promised to write and they had. A package with seven letters was already hidden underneath his floorboard. Dumbledore even assured him that his stay at the Dursleys would be a short as possible this year.

If he was honest with himself though, he didn't care. Here, there. Sirius was still dead, he was still burdened with the prophecy and the images when he closed his eyes would be the same wherever he was.

The Veil. Sirius' surprised look. The feeling that his heart was ripped out of his body. His shuddered wishing he put one something with long sleeves.

His nightmares were a blast this summer. The only fortunate thing about it was that Uncle Vernon hadn't commented on it yet. He was sure his relatives had a calendar somewhere ticking of the days until he would leave and they could go back and pretend he didn't existed. Not that they acknowledged his existence now. But still...

One week had passed and he already was going nutters inside the house. The second bedroom seemed smaller than before to a point that Harry was getting claustrophobic which was actually pathetic considering that his former bedroom had been smaller and narrow spaces had never been a problem before.

He strolled on not caring that it was getting rather late. The Order was guarding him and knew his route after a week. They hadn't interfered or reprimanded him so Harry assumed that going around the block was okay. The Dursleys also wouldn't bemoan his late wanderings. First of all, they were gone for the evening all dressed up for some fancy dinner event. Harry didn't expect them back until well after midnight. Secondly, the broody teenager lurking in the streets was conform with their cover story of him being a juvenile delinquent. Maybe he should buy some spray cans and start tagging 'Riddle' or skulls all over the neighbourhood. Harry snorted at this distasteful and absolutely moronic idea. Sirius would have loved it though. He kicked the dark stone again and pondered if he should name the black bugger 'Tom'.

Going insane with boredom, check. A car passed by from behind. Harry watched his shadow become sharper before disappearing again. The vehicle turned around the corner into Privet Drive.

_SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH! _

The sound of faulty brakes, swerving tires and insane honking pierced the silent evening. Without giving it a moment's thought Harry ran to the end of the street, the stone long forgotten, and turned around the corner as well.

He only caught sight of the fading red lights as the car drove off fast. One of Mrs. Figgs' cats would be scarred for life no doubt, Harry decided when the car vanished in the distance.

Suddenly he heard a loud groan and a muffled curse. His instincts kicked in, unconsciously taking out his wand as he hurried towards the noise. It wasn't a cat.

It was a man and he was lying on his back on the front lawn of Privet Drive Number Four.

"Bloody hell, this hurts!" The man cursed again and sat up with some difficulty.

"Are you all right, sir?" Harry stepped off the sidewalk onto the front lawn and looked around a bit worried. He should have remembered the license plate. And where the hell was the Order?

"Do I look all right?" The man sneered and Harry was vividly reminded of Snape although the obvious scars reminded him of the former Auror. "Call an ambulance would you, instead of waving that stick around." The man went on and flexed his right leg before giving an approving grunt.

_Great a Muggle. _

Harry put his wand away hoping the man hadn't noticed. He doubt it. The man seemed pretty preoccupied with checking the state of his body if the patting of his various limbs and head was anything to go by.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'll quickly run back inside." Harry said and pointed towards his front door.

"Wait!" The man clenched Harry's leg unexpectedly blocking his movement. He looked up warily, "Don't leave me here."

"Can you walk?" Harry asked weighing his options as he spotted a cane nearby. He kneeled down to pick it up.

"Not very well." The man answered a bit annoyed but gladly accepted his cane back. Harry extended his hand and with some effort he got the man upright again. He wobbled unstable on his feet and kept looking around in confusion. This behaviour worried the young wizard. Maybe he had hit his head?

* * *

A few minutes later both of them were sitting comfortably at the kitchen table. The man's cane was resting against the table-leg while the man himself observed the quant kitchen with obvious interest. Harry had gotten the first-aid kit out when the man assured him an ambulance was unnecessary and he may have overreacted earlier.

"I'll be fine. Haven't died yet, so…" The man had argued. Harry had agreed reluctantly after exchanging some stubborn stares and in the end settled with giving the man a cold pack for his left knee.

Now inside with more light Harry had gotten a better look of the wounded man. As he made a pot of tea he observed the man curiously. He was younger than the wizard had first assumed for he had miscalculated the cane. After all, he should know you didn't need to be old to carry a cane. The man wasn't old although Harry had some difficulty pinpointing his exact age. All Harry could decipher from the man's general appearance was that he was an adult. He had dark hair which was littered with white locks at the front and left side of his head. His clothes were nothing noteworthy. However Harry noticed they were a few sizes too big. The seams around the shoulders of his grey jacket hung a few inches lower than they should while the sleeves were cut shorter and stitched back rather clumsily.

It was the man's face though that grasped Harry's attention. It was horribly scarred. Scratches from some kind of animal, knife cuts or both crossed the left side of the man's face starting from beyond the hairline right above his right eye descending diagonally across his left eye, nose and jaw not stopping even when they reached his shirt's collar. It was only by some kind of miracle that the man's eye had been spared because the scars were particularly thick around the eye socket. From what Harry could see of the rest of the man's body, mainly his neck and hands, the scarring wasn't limited to his face alone. He winced when he tried to picture what had happened to him. The conjured image didn't tell a happy story. He looked like a homeless soldier who had just gotten freshly laundered cloths from a shelter.

"Go on. It's all right to stare." The man interrupted his musings, "I'm used to it."

Harry stammered an awkward apology, but the man waved it off and rolled his eyes in amusement. Harry couldn't decide what was so funny about the situation, but shrugged it off and poured the man a cup of tea.

"Do you live close by?" He asked as he poured himself a cup as well. The man shook his head, "Not really, I think the taxi driver conned me."

Harry frowned, the man didn't look particularly angry about this. No, he appeared rather content while sipping his tea as if there was no other place where he'd rather be. Strange. Now that he thought of it, he didn't know anything about the man sitting opposite him. He didn't even know his name. Harry was about to open his mouth to ask when the man beat him to it. However he didn't introduce himself.

"You are way too trusting, kid." The man said with a grimace as he readjusted the cold pack, "Just because I called your wand a stick doesn't mean I'm not a wizard."

Harry jumped off his chair. His wand was out before the man even finished his sentence while the chair clattered loudly to the floor. The man nodded approvingly for some reason and leaned back relaxed folding his hands together in front of his chest, "I could even be a smart Death Eater for all you know."

"Are you?" Harry asked tense. The man clacked his tongue and tilted his head as if he was disappointed. Harry tightened the grip on his wand and cursed the Order's lateness. Surely the wards would have gone off?

"If I said no and you would believe me without proof, you're much more of an idiot then I thought. Unfortunately I can't show you any conclusive evidence one way or the other, but I appreciate the tea." The man went on and raised his cup in a toast before taking another sip, "It seems years since I had a nice cup of Earl Grey."

Harry stared at the stranger who sat comfortably at his kitchen table and just changed the colour of one of Aunt Petunia's treasured cups without saying a word from pink to green for no apparent reason except maybe his own entertainement. Harry didn't know how to respond. This was getting beyond absurd.

"Am I'm making you uncomfortable?" The man asked a tad apologetically when Harry kept pointing his wand at him.

"Bloody hell, you are!" Harry finally snapped briefly wondering why he hadn't fired a curse yet. The thing was the man didn't _feel _very threatening. A tea slurping Death Eater with a limp? It sounded like the start of a bad joke. Still, where was the Order?

"Just wait another thirty seconds." The man spoke all of a sudden and put the cold pack on the table, "It's almost melted." He stared at Harry's duelling stance and frowned, "Loosen the grip a bit and don't point it downwards."

"What?" Harry blurted out confused.

"Relax your wrist." The man explained calmly and gestured with his right hand, "It's easier to fire off curses without having to unlock your wrist first. That way you can fire spells in quicker succession. Also most basic shields like a _Protego_ are more powerful when cast with a downwards flick."

Harry just stared between the man and his own wrist. The man inclined his head as if he was saying go on, try it…

The front door opened with a bang. The man sighed with resignation at the interruption, "And here comes the cavalry, late as usual…"

* * *

Nymphadora Tonks, Arthur Weasley and Mad Eye Moody swarmed into the kitchen. Moody immediately pointed his wand between the man's eyes while his own eye twirled around in his socket presumably checking the parameters. Tonks rushed to the backdoor and performed some quick scans on the room. She nodded at Arthur.

"Harry, why did you invite this man in?" Arthur asked as he checked Harry for obvious wounds.

"He was hurt!" Harry defended his decision and all three of them let out a collective sigh. The teenager repeated what he said inside his head and mentally slapped himself. He had done it again. For now Harry wrenched his head out of reach of Mr. Weasley's worried hands and pointed at the man, "I didn't know he was a wizard!"

The man shot Harry an amused smirk which made the scars on his face seem even deeper. He looked up at Mad Eye completely unfazed by the wizards murderous stare or by his steady wand, "I suggest you use this occasion to petition the Ministry to lift the ban on underage magic." He said to everyone's surprise, "This is a blatant flaw in the security of underage wizards and witches who, in case of Muggleborns, are the only one who's standing in between their innocent families and a subsequent massacre. In this case, for example a simple identity spell would have solved everything. I pray it's still taught at Hogwarts or did that tart of an Umbridge cut all useful skills out of Hogwarts' curriculum?" The man finished and calmly clutched his cane. With some effort he heaved himself up. Mr. Weasley and Tonks were silently pondering the man's words. Harry agreed with the intruder. Now that the Wizarding World finally acknowledge the return of Voldemort, he wouldn't need to be cautious anymore. But if this charade was just about making a point… He could tell that the cane wasn't a ruse though, the man _really_ needed it.

Moody however eyed the cane with disdain carefully debating if it needed to be blasted to smithereens. "If you destroy it, you'll need to carry me out of here. My unfortunate landing on young Harry's front lawn aggravated my knee or whatever's left of it."

"Who are you and what's your business here?" Moody finally ordered him. "You're trespassing." Tonks added her hair flaring from dull brown to red.

"Actually Mr. Potter kindly invited me in after a car really nearly ran me off the street." The man informed them patiently and then stuck out his hand by means of introduction. As if polite gestures would save him from Moody's foul mood now.

When nobody moved to shake it, he retracted his hand not in the least surprised. "All right then, my business was rest and tea. I go by Moran. Full name's Dorian Moran which I find sort of ironic nowadays, so I prefer just Moran."

He again got no reaction and this time sighed his defeat, "Wizards, wrong audience." He muttered derogatory. The adults may not have understood his comment, but they understood his tone perfectly.

"Mr. Moran, hand over your wand and we'll escort you off the premises." Mr. Weasley ordered. Dorian Moran raised his eyebrow and asked, "What's it going to be: Ministry or Order Headquarters?"

Mr. Weasley turned to Moody who debated what was the best option when he was interrupted. "Did you already evacuate Grimmauld Place?" Moran asked. Tonks gasped in surprise while Moody's good eye started to twitch.

"Headquarters it is." He grumbled and dug his wand between Moran's ribs. The man groaned painfully and for some reason Harry didn't like that one bit. He took a step forward, but Mr. Weasley pulled him back. Nevertheless, he spoke up.

"That's not necessary. He had plenty of time to curse me and… Where were you by the way?" Harry trailed off irritated, but quickly shook his head, "Never mind, as I was saying he could have easily killed me and didn't and the car really almost hit him so please, don't stab him with your wand. He actually didn't do anything wrong besides tripping the wards by being a wizard."

The man smiled and inclined his head in thanks which made Harry feel that he did something right for the very first time this summer.

"Mr. Potter speaks the truth, also direct bodily contact with a wand" Moran started to lecture again, "and a possible suspect is considered overaggressive and even dangerous if the suspect proves to be malicious." Mad Eye quickly retracted his wand a couple of inches. Moran continued this impromptu lesson while looking at Harry, "It's easier to knock a wand out of someone hand's when said wand is within one's grasp. Furthermore, a _Stupefy_ works better with an outstretched arm and so does the _Incarcerous_ charm. Both spells are consequently cast quicker when you stand at least three feet of your target. Remember Harry, close combat is something most wizards frown upon, but it can mean the difference between-"

Mad Eye, at the end of his patience, flicked his wand and Moran was silenced.

"Hey!" Harry protested because he was enjoying the pointers, "It was just getting interesting or was he telling lies?"

Tonks and the two men exchanged glances. Well, Mr. Weasley and Moody did. Tonks was busy smothering a rare smile. The young Auror shook her head, "He wasn't. Moody." She shot him a stern glance.

Another flick by the now very annoyed retired Auror and Moran went on if nothing had happened. "Getting caught and getting away." He finished. The three adults exchanged some more glances and Harry was getting frustrated by the lack of information.

"Well, young Mr. Potter, thank you again for the tea. A hand if you will, I'll never make it to the door otherwise." Moran reached out his arm. Harry hesitated. "You didn't give them your wand."

Tonks smacked her forehead while Mad Eye and Mr. Weasley looked at him in horror. Moran smiled and opened his jacket. The wand was tucked in the inside pocket. "Well done, Mr. Potter, you'll survive this war yet." A shadow passed Moran's face as he said this. Harry decided not to comment on the sudden seriousness in the man's voice and merely took the wand. He gave it to Arthur who was still a nice shade of red when he put it away.

Harry turned back and helped Moran to the door. On their way there Moran whispered, "There's a rumour that you have means to make yourself invisible without your wand. Take it with you on your future evening walks. It never hurts to be prepared."

"Are you related to Moody?" Harry blurted out all of a sudden. Moran snorted, opened his mouth to answer but started to laugh again. He cleared his throat while Harry patiently waited for an answer.

"I understand your question. You're referring to the scars and the slight paranoia, am I correct?" Harry nodded embarrassed at his rather childish question, but Moran didn't seem to mind it very much, "Every scar has a story, Mr. Potter, some more famous than others," His eyes fleeted briefly over Harry's forehead, "but you should know a person is more than their scars. Still your question has some validity. However the question you need to ask yourself is, was that careful before I got my scars or not?"

"Mr. Moran, we're leaving." Tonks said and opened the door. Moody was still glaring at the man while Mr. Weasley gave him a thoughtful look. Harry understood them, Moran surely vanished his boredom this evening but his mere presence was worrying. Still, the man gave him some things to think about and he obviously wasn't finished yet.

"If this is the last time I'm granted the chance to speak to you, one last piece of advice, Mr. Potter." He gave Moody a look and leaned some more on his cane, clearly indicating that he wasn't going anywhere until he said what he had to say. Tonks sighed and walked out already, probably to patrol the area so they could make a clean exit. Harry's attention was quickly drawn back inside to the mysterious man standing before him.

"Kid, you're the Boy-Who-Lived." Moran said making Harry almost gag at the name. He really hated that moniker. Moran smirked knowingly as he continued, "You were slandered for a whole year, but now _everyone_ knows you spoke the truth. As a matter of fact the Daily Prophet can't shut about it lately… Anyway, I'm guessing you don't like your fame, but it's a tool just like your wand. Use both to defeat Voldemort."

"You said his name." Harry remarked astonished.

"A foolish act of defiance on my part. You however could free the whole Wizarding World of that fear. Remember Harry, there's more than one way to kill someone."

With those final words Moran tapped his head as if he were pulling off an invisible hat in Harry's honor and walked out into the street. Mad Eye followed directly behind him, wand still pointed steadily between Moran's shoulder blades. This left Harry and Mr. Weasley standing in the doorway.

"Did he say anything before we came in?" He asked, but Harry shook his head, "Nothing useful, he told me he was a wizard and stressed that I should be more careful."

"Mmm." Was Mr. Weasley's only comment and a moment later Moody and Tonks disappeared from sight with a _pop_, Moran safely secured between them.

"Did you really evacuate Grimmauld Place?" Harry asked next. Arthur nodded. Harry sighed relieved. So he wasn't going to see Sirius' old home. He didn't think he could handle that otherwise.

"Strange that he knew that…" Harry pondered out loud, "Strange… He didn't act surprised by anything or concerned. He knew you were coming before I did. Mr. Weasley?"

"Mm, yes, what is it Harry?" The wizard asked quite distracted.

"I didn't think he was dangerous, did you?" Arthur Weasley started to shake his head but then paused, "I'll see what Dumbledore says." He decided, "Well, Harry, it's rather late. You should get some rest."

Harry acquiesced and was about to close the door when he tried one more question even if Mr. Weasley was still staring absentmindedly ahead.

"When do you think I can leave?" He asked hopeful.

"Soon," Mr. Weasley smiled reassuringly, "Dumbledore was occupied with something, but he assured me it would be very soon. Hang in there Harry and don't let anyone in the house again. We got lucky this time, but…" He warned.

"I'll be careful Mr. Weasley." Harry in turn reassured him. He waited until the wizard vanished out of sight as well before finally closing the door.

_What was that?_ This evening had been loaded with heightened feelings and suddenly Harry felt very tired. He tilted his head and let his neck crack. Now that the excitement was over he felt an upcoming headache already throbbing in the distance.

Before he could go to sleep though he had to vanish the 'evidence' so to speak. It wouldn't do much for the peace and quiet of Privet Drive when the Dursleys found out four wizards came over in their absence. But what they didn't know, couldn't hurt them, right?

As Harry poured the leftover tea in the sink he realized that this was exactly what Dumbledore must have been thinking all these years. He sighed and leaned heavily on the counter staring through the kitchen window before him. His tired reflection stared back.

Dumbledore was preoccupied with something, Mr. Weasley had said vaguely. Did that mean he didn't know more or just didn't want to tell Harry? Whatever it was that the Headmaster was doing, Harry would find out soon. He'll ask the very first minute he saw him, because Dumbledore had promised full disclosure.

He turned off the light in the kitchen not bothering to relit the hallway. As Harry descended the stairs in the darkness he recalled some of the things Dorian Moran had said. The man sure had made some valid points and had giving useful tips. He would have liked to test those. At times like these the summer seemed endless. Maybe if the ban on underage magic was revoked? What did Moran say again about his fame? He disliked the Daily Prophet for obvious reasons, but maybe if he gave another interview he could convince the Ministry to lessen the restrictions? If it helped his fellow students why not? He got out his quill and made a short note. He'll ask Hermione about it in the morning.

Another thing that he noticed this evening was how effortlessly Moran outmanoeuvered even the most seasoned Order members. Despite the seriousness of the situation Harry couldn't help but grin. No doubt Moran was being questioned right now. Somehow he couldn't picture the man any other way than amused during the interrogation. And if he could infuriate Mad Eye Moody, who knows what he'll do to Snape?

Despite his headache Harry fell asleep with a smile gracing his face.

* * *

**And so it starts for real... Any thoughts? Thank you in advance.**


	3. The Benefits of Defenestration

**A/N:** I got an awesome beta in the meantime: **Madame Cyanure** many, many thanks, without you this chapter would be filled with mistakes :)

Also thank you **hazeldragon** and **Henny B-F-R** for leaving a review.

* * *

**Chapter 2: The Benefits of Defenestration**

The Headmaster's office had a lone occupant this late in the evening, one who didn't care much for light and other such frivolities. One pitiful oil lamp lit the desk while a low burning fire cast more shadows than light over the rest of the room. The only noise to be heard was the crackling of the wood and the soft meticulous scratches of a quill, although that last sound had stopped a while ago.

Severus rolled his right sleeve back up after tracing the effects of last night's visit once more. _So it's done… _The fiery, red-hot tongues of flame left no visible marks but Bellatrix's words might as well be burned into his skin. He rubbed his eyes and stilled his hand there; pinching the bridge of his nose in an effort to dispel the fatigue he was feeling. The summer had barely begun but it was already the worst yet, which was kind of depressing considering it included the summer the Dark Lord had returned.

Now that the rest of the mindless sheep who occupied the Wizarding World finally acknowledged his resurrection, the Dark Lord of course had to show the full scale of his power. He himself hadn't been present at the massacre in Somerset, but had seen the reports in the Daily Prophet. On top of that Severus had to pretend to see the humour of it whenever his fellow Death Eaters retold the events with much glee. Luckily he wasn't known for showing positive emotions, so more than a light sneer wasn't expected of him.

Severus cut the string around the next packet of papers that had been lying inconspicuously on the Headmaster's desk before him and started to rifle through them. Most of them were letters from distraught parents who needed reassurance of the castle's safety for the upcoming school year. Others merely send a notice their children would be home-schooled next fall. Normally Albus would deal with these, but since he was 'manning the fort', so to speak, Severus might as well do some work. He wasn't one to sit around idly. But the events of the past week kept him from fully concentrating on designing a adequate reply.

The reason he hadn't attended the raid in Somerset was because his potions were in high demand. He was so busy in fact that the Dark Lord – in an act of severely misplaced kindness – had send an 'assistant' over to help in the house. It took all his willpower, and a steady reminder that the Dark Lord wouldn't be too pleased, for him to refrain from killing Wormtail on the spot. The fact that Severus took an immense amount of gratification from imagining various and mostly painful ways of how the traitorous rat would finally meet his end didn't help his resolve at all. But it made for such an enjoyable activity, certainly if he ordered the vermin around and watched him scurry away with a bucket and a mop. Because of course he could serve the Dark Lord _so_ much better if his house was liveable and clean. Severus smirked, determined on introducing Wormtail to the attic next. There were a couple of boggarts there that needed some company…

This tiny bit of entertainment unfortunately didn't distract him from his other problems. To make matters worse – as if his summer needed ruining even further – his other employer, the old benevolent Headmaster of Hogwarts, had taken a leave of his senses and had put on a cursed ring!

A large ink blotch suddenly splattered the half-finished letter. The fact that it was the first time in years that Severus ruined a letter in a way only a first year would – or the entirety of Gryffindor House – made it clear that he was still feeling out of sorts about that night.

It had taken him hours to contain the curse inside Albus' hand. His magic and his potion knowledge were almost insufficient to halt the dark curse the ring had unleashed. He had managed to succeed at long last, but it was all for naught. The curse would spread and the Headmaster would die. It was only a matter of time now. And Albus wasn't too concerned about his sudden expiration date. It was highly infuriating!

To top it all, Narcissa had paid Spinner's End a visit yesterday and his arm still ached as a result**.** Albus had asked him to do it, but now there was no doubt as to what Severus' fate would be. By the end of the year he'd be known as the killer of Albus Dumbledore, rise to the highest ranks within the Death Eaters' hierarchy and do what? Be the lesser of two evils?

Severus sighed tiredly. Playing war with Albus was like playing chess blindfolded with your hands tied behind your back. The other man made all the moves and you could do nothing else but comply.

With a wave of his wand the ruined letter burned itself to a crisp, and with another wave the evidence of his minor slip vanished. Severus took another parchment and started over. He stopped after the header and smirked briefly. The summer wasn't all dark and gloomy.

He didn't know how it happened but the attack on Amelia Bones failed spectacularly. He counted himself very fortunate to have perfected his Occlumency. Otherwise it would have been very hard to explain why the idea of an irate Dark Lord striding through the empty mansion in search of the formidable witch made him smile, while the successful raids left him indifferent. What exactly happened that night wasn't clear. She wasn't dead, but Dumbledore had no idea where she was and none of her family had been contacted yet except for one missive two days after the failed assassination. It was short and claimed that she was abroad for the summer. It had all been hushed up by the Ministry in a vain attempt not to cause more panic. As if that helped; everyone was scared now, as they should be.

* * *

The room vibrated slightly with magic, signalling that someone had spoken the password and was coming up the spiral staircase. Severus composed himself and resumed scribbling the reply. A gruff voice interrupted the third sentence and he didn't have to make an effort to appear annoyed.

"Snape, where's Albus?" Moody asked hurriedly and lit the remaining lamps with a careless flick of his wand bathing the Headmaster's office in a soft and warm light. The portraits behind the professor started whispering and one complained loudly at the sudden increase of light. Severus folded his hands in front of him and placed them on the desk before responding.

"Not here." He answered emphasizing the evident and watched how Moody manhandled an unknown man inside. Tonks followed them in quickly.

"Minerva?" Moody inquired further still clenching the man's collar.

"Indoctrinating new brats with the greatness of Gryffindor." Severus replied smoothly.

"What?" Moody growled. The professor was irritated with the fact that he had to clarify his obvious statement and drawled mockingly, "Introducing Muggleborns to the Wizarding World."

Mad-Eye huffed. "We found him at Potter's house." He said pushing the man further inside. The push was rather forceful and the man stumbled down the single step when his left leg sort of froze in place. One shaking movement later, gravity won out and he landed hard on the floor with a groan. Severus watched it all unperturbed yet he was highly curious. _So someone broke through Potter's protections__?_

"Moody!" Tonks exclaimed in the meantime, evidently upset, rushing forward and kneeling down to help the man back up. "Was that really necessary?"

"Thanks," The man mumbled quickly and shot her a tentative smile, "I probably should refrain from infuriating Mr. Moody in the future."

"Probably," She gave him a weak smile, "And you shouldn't have called him a senile paranoid parrot, Mr. Moran." Tonks admonished the man.

"True, but he did nab my cane. By the way, did you have to be so rough?" The man said turning to Moody now and made a wide gesture with both arms while leaning solely on his right leg, "I'm in an enclosed space without a wand and more importantly without my cane. I'm not running anywhere." He ended exasperated.

"This enclosed space is Albus Dumbledore's office, Moran." Moody said as if he were offended in Albus' stead. Moran paused at this and cast his eyes heavenwards, shaking his head wearily.

"What kind of people are you?" The man exclaimed in disbelief and hobbled a step backwards towards the closest shelf, "You take someone who you suspect to be dangerous to your leader's personal office and _say_ the password in front of him." Severus carefully suppressed a smile. He had a point..."On top of the fact that this room is filled with things that could help my escape if I wish it. A knock against this-" Moran went on and tapped his finger against a yellow luminescent stone on one of Albus' cluttered shelves, "will cause a flare of bright light. And this-" Moran pointed at an ornamental dagger next to it, "well, it's sharp and pointy. You figure out what I could do with that."

Moody sent a curse in Moran's direction before the man could say another word. The red beam connected with Moran's right hand and he withdrew it immediately. Severus noticed the burn mark that had appeared there with an inward wince, but the stranger himself paid no further attention to it.

"All right, all right, moving away from the shelves." The man held up his hands in a dramatic gesture of defeat and then turned towards Tonks.

"Miss Tonks, would you kindly assist me to a chair as your berk of a partner refuses to give back my walking stick."

"Moody, we're three armed wizards." Severus spoke up and pointed to the stranger, "He currently poses no larger threat than a mere Muggle with a limp. Give the man his cane back."

The man offered him a grateful smile which he didn't return. Severus shot him another calculating glance instead without appearing too interested. His face might wear a bored look, but that mask was one he perfected a very long time ago. Behind his indifferent facade his mind was already busy processing the slightest details of the scene in front of him.

The man they led in was strangely familiar. Not his outward appearance of course, he would remember someone bearing those scars. No, at first glance there was nothing familiar about him. Dark hair with white strands, ruined face, tell-tale limp, neither tall nor small. Nothing that would be quickly forgotten. So he didn't know this man who was rather calm for someone in his situation. Annoyed would describe his countenance the best at this moment. But there was something about him on which Severus couldn't put his finger on. Call it a gut feeling or a warning, but there was something familiar about him.

The fact that he still couldn't place him bothered him extremely.

Whoever he was, this stranger was someone to remember from now on, no matter how harmless he may seem at the moment. Severus might not know the man personally but he knew men just like him. He was the kind of person who had been hunted and pushed into that corner somehow fighting back and found a way to free himself. Actually, it was strange that Moody reacted so fiercely to Moran's taunts seeing as they appeared to be very similar people. Both men favoured one limb over the other, both had their backs facing the wall and both of them carried themselves in such a way that the slightest change in atmosphere could trigger them into action.

As Severus stared into that stranger's dark eyes he knew without a doubt that turning your back on him would be the last mistake you'd ever make.

"Thank you Miss Tonks." Moran said cordially and accepted his cane back. "Should I go and sit over there now?"

Severus nodded curtly and Moran hobbled to the chair across the Headmaster's desk. The next minutes passed in silence or near silence as Moran kept tapping his cane on the ground, no doubt mimicking some musical tune floating in his mind. Severus made several attempts to reach out with his mind, but Moran kept his gaze steadily fixed on the fireplace watching the logs burn.

"When's Dumbledore getting back?" Tonks asked at long last. Severus had found it strange that the young Auror wasn't as vocal as she used to be. He folded the parchment in front of him and did smirk this time.

"He's resting in his room. The fight with the Dark Lord took a lot out of him." He answered reciting the lie he told Narcissa and Bellatrix. Moran snorted but refrained from commenting. If only Moody had the same consideration.

"Snape, which part of 'he was at Potter's house' did you not understand?" Moody said and then added while narrowing his eyes in suspicion, "What did you do to him?" Ever since Emmeline Vance's death Moody's distrust towards him had only grown. Sometimes Severus wondered why the ex-Auror blamed him for her fate. It wasn't as if the Dark Lord told him every single thing he planned. Then again it was just easier, Severus deduced, to blame the known Death Eater instead of numerous faceless ones.

"Nothing," Severus answered briskly while trying not to add 'yet' in his head, "Or are you implying I poisoned the Headmaster and then stayed here waiting for you to show up?"

"Poison would make you look suspicious." Moran suddenly voiced his opinion and nonchalantly leaned back into his chair, "I'm guessing you pushed him out of the window or off his balcony. No magical trace, enough clutter to choose from, low windowsills. It's so easy to trip of old age." He shook his head sadly and smirked, "I can imagine the headlines already: 'Dumbledore met his match' on top with 'in an overturned bowl of lemon drops' as a subtitle." Moran animated his absurd suggestion with his hands.

"Anyway, that's what I would do," He concluded and shrugged, "but poison works too."

"Moody, lower your wand." Severus ordered as he rubbed his temples tiredly, "Mr. Moran was only joking, how inappropriate the subject matter may be." He gave Moran a stern look before waving his wand at half concealed door that led to Albus' private chambers.

"He'll be here in ten minutes." He informed the rest putting his wand away and turned back to letters in front of him. A moment later the entrance signalled another visitor, making Tonks and Moody turn around while Moran appeared not interested. Arthur Weasley stepped into the office and looked around trying to spot the wayward Headmaster.

"Where's-" He started, but Moody interrupted him, "Snape here held us up."

Severus ignored the ex-Auror instead opted to watch Moran who rolled his eyes at Mad Eye's statement. Strange, he pondered curiously. Weasley was informing the others about what happened after they left, reassuring them that the Bloody Boy-Who-Lived was well protected by his oldest son. Severus concentrated back on the letter and dipped his quill in the black ink, feigning disinterest while he kept observing the stranger out of the corner of his eye. Moran had remained seated and was now nonchalantly examining his fingernails.

"You made quite the impression on Harry." Severus paused halfway a word when Weasley sat himself next to Moran a few minutes later addressing him rather kindly, "I wouldn't be surprised if he acted upon your suggestions."

"I'm positive he will. From what I've learned of young Mr. Potter so far, he cares much about others but hates being forced to the sidelines. It's about time he starts using that fame to accomplish his goals." Moran remarked, briefly glancing the professor's way when he said 'fame'. Severus didn't disappoint as his lips curled up in blatant loathing while a dreaded feeling rose up his chest. Not another fan, he thought bemoaning his ill fortune.

"Mr. Snape here doesn't agree with me." Moran went on with that repulsive smile still plastered on his face. "Wouldn't you call it a Slytherin act to secure some new, let's call them procedures, on the sole accomplishment of your name?"

Severus narrowed his eyes. How dare he use Slytherin and Harry Potter in the same sentence! The impertinent brat was ever so the brash Gryffindor. "Fame is a fickle thing. The Wizarding World turned their back on him last year, who knows what the masses will do next? Without considerable accomplishments to accompany his rising star," He sneered, "He'll fade back quickly to the mediocre student I know him to be."

"Now, now, Severus, Harry did make You-Know-Who's return public and won the Triwizard Tournament. I'll never forget what he did in his second year." Arthur protested affronted by the vicious tone of the potions professor's reasoning. Severus shrugged Weasley's objection aside and focused on Moran.

"On all those accounts the factor of luck was vastly more important that his skills and he had help from his loyal minions." He sneered at that last part with contempt.

"Mmm, you might be correct." Moran sounded convinced and Severus thought he might not be a lost cause after all until Moran leaned forward and whispered, "However invoking such loyalty without the usage of fear and violence is his own accomplishment, don't you agree?"

Severus was about to snap something back when Fawkes stirred on his perch and sang a familiar tune. The next moment the bird soared into the air and landed on Albus' shoulder. The sudden entrance and the vibrant coloured robes made the Headmaster look ever so powerful but Severus knew better. Albus' right hand sleeve might cover up his brittle hand effectively; but the charcoaled appendage was still there.

"An emergency you said?" Albus asked the potions professor who in turn motioned at the man in front of him.

"You have a guest, Dumbledore." Severus informed him still scowling.

"Splendid," Albus said sounding rather delighted with this late night visit and stepped down the few stairs. Severus got up quickly vacating the Headmaster's chair. He stepped back and went to lean against the bookcases at the side. Albus sent Fawkes back to his perch and seated himself solemnly in the comfortable chair. He pushed his glasses further up his crooked nose and folded his hands expectantly.

"And who might you be, young man?" He asked; his tone civil, but firm. It was quite clear for everyone in the room that, while Albus may act friendly, this was an interrogation. Moody was still pointing his wand at Moran's back while Tonks and Weasley picked spots on either side of the Headmasters desk directly behind the stranger. Only Severus himself was standing outside that circle looking in but he didn't mind; he had the best view of the proceedings.

"My name's Dorian Moran." The man answered equally amiable and Severus got the distinct feeling the man knew how to deal with the all-knowing Headmaster.

"That's unfortunate." Albus remarked pleasantly.

Moran snorted, "You don't have to tell me."

"Pray tell me Alastor," Albus directed the inquiry away for a moment; a classic move really as were the unnecessary niceties, "why was Mr. Moran dragged in here?"

"He visited Potter, didn't give up his wand and-" Moody started to rant but in the end struggled to find the right words. Luckily and most amusingly Tonks helped, "Made a bloody fool out of us."

"Did you now?" The Headmaster lowered his head a bit so he could look at the man over his half-moon spectacles.

"I can't help it. It's my way of dealing with stress. Some men become grumpy, I become an idiot." Moran grinned and repositioned his leg, skilfully suppressing a wince which Severus saw nevertheless. He wondered how the man acquired such a persistent injury; the healers at St. Mungo's weren't that incompetent.

"What were you doing there, Mr. Moran?"

"It was the fastest way to get an interview with you, Headmaster Dumbledore. You proved to be a hard man to reach. Also, I admit I was curious about the Chosen One's residence."

"Albus, just dose him with Veritaserum. He's lying." Moody interrupted impatiently.

"I'm not."

"Severus, could you?" Albus asked and the potion master pushed himself from the wall and took a step towards the fire; the quickest way to his office.

"Bad idea," Moran spoke up and shifted in his chair, "Look I'm willing to take an Oath on my magic that I mean none of you harm, least of all Harry Potter, but you won't be interrogating me with Veritaserum."

"Legilimency then." The Headmaster offered and signalled Severus to come closer.

"If you value your sanity you should stay out of my mind, spy." Moran suddenly snapped and for the first time since he entered the room clenched his hands in a hostile reaction.

"Why do you say that?" Severus asked feigning confusion and ignoring the man's defensive posture for now.

"Come now, surely you all know that it's one of the worst kept secrets inside Hogwarts which is kind of sad, now that I think of it since it's filled with teenagers… Never mind, anyone capable of reading and accessing the archives of the Daily Prophet could have connected the dots. Your colleagues just confirmed my suspicion; one by changing her hair colour and the second by the near disappearance of one eyebrow. Congratulations, Mr. Moody, that was quite the accomplishment."

"Now listen you impertinent heap of dragon-dung!" Moody finally lost his patience and leered threateningly at the man, "your mockery might amuse you, but the rest of us aren't smiling." At this point Moran dared to risk a glance at Severus as if he knew the professor was amused; Severus was but didn't show it though and glared back. Moody was still going strong, "I'm this close to starting practising some nasty hexes on you and by the time I'm through with them we won't need potions to make you squeal like a Banshee!"

"Mr. Moody, your tirade, however informative it is, is making my ears ring." Moran interrupted the irate ex-Auror and proceeded to address Albus directly. The Headmaster in turn quickly raised his hand to stop Moody from saying more, "Headmaster Dumbledore, I may look gaunt and dangerous but I'm not, at least not to you. I have a very good reason for refusing Veritaserum and Legilimency, a reason I shall convey to you alone. If not I shall not answer your questions even if you were the Founders themselves. It's the same as leaving my diary out on the coffee table with unknown guests while I'm off to refill their cups. You're not going to solve this riddle of why I was at Mr. Potter's house without a little bit of trust. Come now, Headmaster, give me the benefit of the doubt of speaking to me in private and I shall bare my soul so to speak."

A thick silence descended upon the room after Moran finished speaking as everyone stared at the Headmaster's reaction. Albus had paled significantly and Severus thought he saw a slight tremble in his hands. He didn't know what caused such a strong reaction – since Albus rarely showed emotion he didn't want anyone to see – but there was no question about it; Moran's short monologue was more than it seemed.

"If you insist." Albus finally spoke.

_What?_ Severus was surprised and wanted to protest but Arthur and Moody were quicker.

"Is that a wise-"

"Albus, I don't trust-" Both men objected but the Headmaster raised his hand.

"Please exit these rooms for a few moments so I may find some satisfactory answers here." Albus all but ordered them out. Moran who tapped his fingers rhythmically against his cane looked up innocently and smirked, "Don't worry Mr. Moody, I'll stay away from the windows."

Severus rubbed his eyes once more when the vein above Moody's temple throbbed dangerously. He shook his head and followed Tonks out. Weasley followed suit, but Mad Eye lingered for a while; no doubt planning to curse the man then and there. It didn't help that the last words Severus heard before he stepped into the hall was Moran's cheerful goodbye, "If you want to get back in the password is 'sugar quills'!"

The gargoyle jumped back into place and the stairwell was sealed once more.

"That went well." Tonks remarked sarcastically as she leaned against the opposite wall. Severus had to agree with her.

* * *

Ten minutes passed, twenty passed, thirty... Moody was obviously using the Tempus Charm to amuse himself if the preposterous amount of recasting was any indication. Tonks and Arthur were pacing. Severus himself was still standing on the same spot; the only outward sign of worry being the slight tightening of his lips every now and then. Suddenly a translucent Phoenix appeared in front of them and Albus voice resonated in the hallway.

"_Arthur, give Mr. Moran his wand back when he exits the room. He can't very well teach Defence Against the Dark Arts without."_

"What?" Moody exclaimed incredulously, but Tonks motioned him to keep his mouth shut.

"_Alastor, Miss Tonks, Arthur, the evening is late and no doubt you have other places to be at. No worries, I'm well and Alastor, Dorian asked me to reassure you that he never went near the windows, neither did I, not sure why this is important... Rest assured, all will be explained next Order meeting. Severus, come up after Mr. Moran leaves."_

A moment later the gargoyle moved and Moran walked out. "Mr. Weasley." He asked politely and held out his hand.

Arthur removed the wand from his pocket and handed it back, "A professor." He remarked at which Moran only shrugged, "We came to an agreement. Gentlemen, Miss Tonks," He bowed, "I wish you all a pleasant night." With that he walked away, the distinct tick of his cane echoed down the corridor long after he rounded the corner.

"Well, I'm going home. Tonks, Alastor, Severus, Molly's probably still up and you know how she likes to feed people." Arthur offered and turned towards the potion professor. Severus shook his head and gave them a short nod before going up the stairs.

The walk was too short to rearrange all his thoughts on this surprising, no disturbing turn of events. What was Albus thinking? Furthermore, he was supposed to teach DADA this year. Albus had been tracking down Horace Slughorn, his old potion professor, since the end of the school year to be his replacement. The Headmaster had some explaining to do.

"Take a seat, Severus." Albus said and motioned at the chair Dorian Moran had occupied mere minutes earlier. The Headmaster was preening Fawkes while the bird hummed soothing tunes.

"Well, Severus, what did you think of our young friend?" Albus asked in a very roundabout way, not touching the subject of DADA.

"Young?" The professor frowned.

"I daresay he's no older than thirty…"

"He's an enigma."

"Ah, the truest word." Albus smiled knowingly which just infuriated Severus even further.

"I would advise you to be cautious," He went on, "but you already made him the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."

"Remind me again of that old adage about enemies, Severus?" Albus asked evasively purposefully not taking the obvious hint.

"You want me to watch him?"

"You're in the ideal position." Albus explained a tad apologetically, "Both young professors, both passionate about the Dark Arts, I imagine you would get along quite well."

Severus looked at the Headmaster completely stumped by his logic. Sometimes Albus was just the uttermost optimist. Both men looked at each other for a few moments until Severus sighed.

"Fine, but he's not a Death Eater?" He asked uncomfortably about the idea the Dark Lord might send someone to double check upon him.

"Voldemort did not send him, no." The Headmaster reassured him. "In fact I think we acquired another valuable member for the Order. And it does reassure me that the faculty now has another professor quite capable at duelling if the worst comes to the worst."

"You were in here a long time, Albus." Severus stated seriously and tried a more direct approach next, "What did you and him talk about?"

"Decisions, choices and other such wretched things." Albus answered after a long pause and sighed deeply. Fawkes increased the softness of his soothing melody and nudged his head against the Headmaster unmarred hand. Albus smiled contently and Severus wondered not for the first time what would happen to the loyal companion when Albus would die.

"Whatever he said shocked you didn't it? You look worse." Severus observed a bit worried, "Do you need anything?"

"An old man's prerogative, Severus, but you're correct. I'm tired." Albus remarked and got up, "Just sleep will suffice though." Fawkes hopped on his shoulder.

"Before you go, when Voldemort calls, tell him about Moran."

"No restrictions?" Severus questioned just to be sure. When the Dark Lord hears about an unknown man who entered Potter's home, became the DADA professor and a member of the Order all in one night, no doubt his interest will be piqued.

"None whatsoever," Albus reassured him and carefully ascending the stairs once more, "no doubt your complaints about my unfairness in denying you the DADA position again will solidify Voldemort's trust in you even more."

"Very well," Severus nodded, "Good night, Albus."

"Good night, Severus."

* * *

When Severus got to the bottom of the stairs and turned left into his corridor he heard a strange noise. It was a soft thud and then another and another following each other in a rhythmic tune. He had a vague suspicion what is was so when he turned around the corner and faced his door it wasn't a surprise that Moran was leaning against it. The newest member of the faculty was methodically throwing his cane in the air. It didn't look hard; in fact he looked quite bored actually. Then Severus noticed to his astonishment that Moran caught his cane with his eyes closed. Despite himself Severus was a bit impressed.

"What are you doing here?" He commanded loudly hoping to catch the man off guard. Moran just opened his eyes and caught his walking stick for the last time. He tapped the door with it and said, "I was waiting for you. You have quite the reputation, Potion Master Snape, Albus' master spy and tormenter of half the school."

"Mr. Moran-" Severus had no interest in entertaining another conversation.

"Sorry, make that three quarters." Moran rudely interrupted him and grinned stepping aside a bit so the entrance was free. He remained stubbornly rooted however against the dungeon wall.

"Again, what's your business here?" Severus asked quite annoyed by now and cast a quick _Muffliato_ in order to say the password to his chambers. He wasn't going to make that mistake. The door swung open and he stepped inside. Of course Moran followed but he had at least the decency to remain in the door frame.

"I jumped out of the way of a moving car landing rather unlucky. Then Mr. Moody shoved me from the gates all the way up to the Headmaster's office expecting me to follow his pace without my cane. Do you know how many bloody stairs this castle has?" Moran paused and looked at his legs, "I apologise for bothering you but I feel myself in the need a Numbing Potion."

Severus made a disapproving noise but walked to his cabinet nevertheless. "How did you find my rooms?" He asked while locating the correct potion. His hand lingered for a second above a vial with Veritaserum. He didn't label his potions; such practices made the mind lazy. A too strong dependency on such aides also increased the risk of tampering since it's quite easy to swap the tags.

"Albus told me." Moran shrugged and continued impatiently, "So can you spare a Numbing Potion?"

"He didn't inform me." Severus muttered annoyed and decided to just give the correct potion. He couldn't help but notice the pain in the man's voice just now as he repeated his request and since Albus always insisted he was a good man...

"He probably thought you were fond of surprises." Moran answered and gave a grateful nod when Severus handed him the potion.

"Here, one sip will-" The potion professor started but only got that far since Moran already uncorked the bottle and downed its entire content in one gulp. Moran scrunched up his face as he swallowed the liquid.

"You're not supposed to drink the whole bottle." Severus remarked dryly and observed the other man tentatively for the first signs of an overdose.

"Who are you my mother?" Moran snapped. Severus scowled and watched how his new colleague rubbed his eyes and exhaled deeply. "Sorry, the taste makes me snappish. Anyway," He apologised again and handed the bottle back, "Thanks."

"For a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor you show a lot of trust towards a man you only met once. I could have easily poisoned you or slipped you Veritaserum."

"Albus trusts you." Moran shrugged again, "Besides it had the right colouring, residue and smell. Unfortunately the taste was also spot on." He made another face in support of his argument. Severus made a mental note that the man knew his potions.

"You want something for that?" Severus heard himself ask and pointed towards Moran's hand. The man flexed his right hand a couple of times and shook his head, "Nah, I'm okay. It's quite numb now." He grinned.

"Again, thank you for your assistance." Moran said and held out his hand, "I look forward to work alongside you." Severus hesitated for a moment, considering not reciprocating the friendly gesture. But Albus had asked and the Headmaster was right. He could learn much more about this stranger from close observation than from faraway conjecture.

"I assure you it's mutual." Severus said and shook the offered hand. From the humorous glint in the other man's eyes he knew that Moran caught on to the actual meaning of their handshake.

_Let the game begin._

* * *

**Please leave a review. It makes me so happy! :)**


	4. Daily Advice, Nightly Confusion

**Again, many thanks to **_Madame Cyanure_** who's doing an excellent job at beta'ing this story. **

_redstickbonbon, Procrastinator12_** and **_Raven Lockwood**, **_**th****ank you for reviewing! It made me very happy :)**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Daily Advice, Nightly Confusion**

Harry was running for his life. A herd of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks – or what he assumed to be a herd of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks – chased him through the cramped corridors. Their rattling hooves pounded the halls of Hogwarts making the castle shake and tremble. There was a steep staircase right ahead and Harry flung himself unto the steps just as it moved. He grabbed the banister and pulled himself up while behind him the Snorkacks mooed and _whoop-whoop whooped _sadly as they fell of the ridge one by one. Their horns crumpling even more as they piled on top of each other in a strange longhaired green heap. Luna had been running with him smiling serenely but had vanished by the time he reached the first landing. Maybe she was a Snorkack too? Hermione appeared instead and dumped one book after the other in his hands.

"Sixth Year will be exciting, Harry." Hermione glowed with enthusiasm, "Look at all the electives I have! There's one on snogging. Do you think I could convince Ron to take that class with me?"

Harry nodded weakly while the burden on his arms kept getting heavier and heavier. He sank into the leave-covered ground and watched in fascination how his legs disappeared into the damp black earth. A squirrel hopped past them undisturbed and disappeared into the shadows of the Forbidden Forest.

"No, Harry!" Hermione cried, "You're supposed to carry all that alone!"

Harry frowned and dropped the books. They weren't his books! Hermione was suddenly gone and he found himself standing in a long corridor. A familiar door had materialized in front of him. The only difference was the fiery 'X' burned on the door. Harry slowly turned around. He had the distinct feeling that someone was watching him. But the stretched out corridor was deserted. The row torches that lined the walls seemed to go on and on forever. Harry's hand lingered above the door handle. He decided not to go in however and turned back to walk away. He knew it was a trap. He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. However the row of torches appeared shorter this time and as he was staring at them, another one went out. Faster and faster the lights were extinguished. He grabbed the handle again. He knew who was putting them out. Harry could hear him whispering.

… _Harry Potter…_

A chill travelled down his spine. The cold malicious voice promised so much pain. The breeze blew out the last of three torches and in panic Harry wrenched the door open and jumped inside. There was no floor and the darkness finally swallowed him.

Harry groaned when he regained consciousness. He raised his head carefully, mindful of the violent throbbing the small movement already elicited. Against his better judgement to just sleep for a while longer he rolled onto his stomach to push himself up. The plan sounded better in his mind as he struggled with such an easy task. At long last he succeeded in gaining a vertical position. Luckily the walls of the room offered the necessary support to stay upright. The room he was in was small, dank and freezing cold. With every new breath white clouds appeared. There was some light he assumed because he could see the outline of the cell, but Harry couldn't find a light source except for a tiny barred window in the armoured door; the only way out. He noticed that his shoes were gone. The stones below his feet were sanded down. He rubbed his one free arm across his waist. It was so cold. His jacket and jumper were missing as well. The only upside right now was that his glasses were still firmly planted on his nose. He would feel so vulnerable without them.

Not that he didn't feel vulnerable now. His legs felt wobbly and unsteady; the same feeling he had when Lockhart removed the bones in his arm so many years ago. His bones were still there though. He finally felt stable enough to hobble along the wall towards the armoured door, almost tripping over an iron chain concealed by the dimly lit cell. The small barred window was his only chance to find out more. His head was still reeling from whatever had happened. The fact that he was alive wasn't comforting at all by this time. The plan had gone wrong somehow...

What had happened? That was the big question. He was alone. So where were Ron and Hermione? Neville, Ginny, Luna? The Order?

Harry braced himself and took one last step needed to stand right in front of the door. The cruel face of Bellatrix Lestrange stared back smirking. Startled, he leaped back and stumbled onto the ground with a painful _thud_. The door slowly opened and the dark-haired witch entered his cell accompanied by two Dead Eater thugs. Out of habit he reached for his wand. Of course it wasn't there. He mentally berated himself for that slip.

"Well, well, well the little prince is awake. Let's have some fun now, deary." She mocked and motioned the two men closer, "Boys, pick him up. No need to be gentle."

The two men came closer and Harry tried very hard not to panic. He had no wand and his chances of fighting the men off by relying on his strength alone were pretty slim. He scrambled back, a move that drew out Bellatrix'scackling laugh.

"Going somewhere, deary?" She taunted while the men grabbed his arms with more force than necessary and heaved him up. Harry kicked around and got lucky. The triumph was short lived however when the man on his right retaliated by punching his stomach. Harry gasped and doubled over, struggling to breathe. If the Death Eaters hadn't held him upright he would have sunken onto his knees. Bellatrix looked positively delighted.

"Now, now, pretty Potter, our Lord will see you now." She informed him and frowned, seemingly confused; as if she wasn't sure why Voldemort would want his company. Harry agreed with her. He'd much rather stay here. His fear felt tangible now. His heart was beating so hard he assumed Bellatrix and her tugs could hear it. House of the Brave, right? He didn't feel like he belonged there anymore.

Despite the lingering pain in his abdomen he kept struggling albeit feebly. He didn't want to step across that threshold. He didn't want to know what he lost this time.

Harry gasped and shot upright in his bed. He kicked his blankets away and let the cool night air sooth his clammy skin. Immediately he brought his hand to his scar; although he still had a headache his scar wasn't throbbing more than usual. It was just a dream then, he sighed relieved. Harry pulled off his sweaty T-shirt with some difficulty_;_ it seemed to be glued against his skin. On top of that, his brain having just startled his body awake, his movements were sluggish. He hopped of his bed and turned on the lamp on the desk below the window. Next he rummaged through his closet in search of a clean T-shirt but his thoughts still lingered on the dream.

It was rather vivid. The first part was nonsense of course and the memory of it was fleeting even now, but the second? Harry put on the shirt and walked back to his desk, where he sank down into the rickety chair. Hedwig hooted softly as if she knew he needed a reminder that this was the real world. He had dreams like this before, dreams that were so vibrant and lifelike that he could see, hear, feel and smell his surroundings. He ran his hand through his sweaty tangled hair.

But it didn't feel like one of Voldemort's visions, he argued with himself. With them he watched everything enfold from Voldemort's point of view. It was always accompanied with a feeling of urgency. This was different. He had felt scared, confused and… so void of hope.

He needed advice and as he was planning to write Hermione already... He might as well write Ron too. He grabbed some paper and a pencil and penned down a quick letter. Harry estimated it was just before dawn. Hedwig gave his arm a playful nip while he tied the letters to her leg.

"Please give these to Ron and Hermione for me_?_" He asked softly and stroked her silky feathers. A moment later he watched her fly away while the sky was already getting lighter in the east. With a last look outside – Privet Drive was ever so quiet this early in the morning – Harry closed the curtains again and sank back in bed. He stared at the ceiling for a couple of minutes and rubbed his scar again. He just hoped this wasn't the beginning of a series of similar dreams.

* * *

The day dragged out endlessly. Outside it was colder and gloomier than the day before, so Harry had pulled out his jumper again and even briefly considered one of his Weasley sweaters. He grinned as he held up the one with the dragon on imagining the Dursleys' reaction. Better not provoke them… The summer this far had been rather peaceful, boring, but peaceful all the same. After dinner he jumped back up the stairs to get his invisibility cloak.

"I'm going out for walk!" Harry called back in from in the doorframe.

"Keep your voice down, boy!" Was Vernon's only reply. Harry just rolled his eyes at this. The walk was rather short and boring. The most exciting thing that happened was that one of Mrs. Figg's cats followed him for a few houses. When he turned back around the corner he half-expected half-hoped to see Dorian Moran lying on the front lawn again. Silly really, he's probably still getting interrogated by the Order. Harry hoped he was okay though.

Back in his room Hedwig hooted impatiently at the windowsill. "Quiet, girl, hop in." Harry said and opened the window. He untied the letter and offered her some leftovers from dinner. It was from Hermione.

_Harry,_

_How are you doing? I'm glad you wrote me! I know you're bored there, but you shouldn't wish for other exciting things to happen… Although from what you wrote, the stranger seemed pretty harmless. Still, be __safe__ Harry! _

_About his tips as you called them, I think this Dorian Moran is right. But you need to be careful, Harry. Have you been reading the Daily Prophet lately? What am I asking? Of course you have! It seems that there is a lot of speculation going on about you. If you give an interview you might be forced to answer questions __which__you don't want to or can't answer. It would be so typical __of__ them – the Daily Prophet and by extension the Ministry - to use you for their own goals._

_As sceptical as I am about the Quibbler, it might be the better option. You could write a 'Letter to the Editor' or something and I'm sure Luna's father won't bother you with similar questions. If Luna's any indication __of character__,__ it won't matter to him. This way you still get your message out. Since your interview last February their subscriptions have __risen__ quite high. And it will allow you to keep your distance from the Ministry. _

_About your dream, Harry, have you written Dumbledore about it? It's probably nothing to worry about but I can imagine your nightmares bother you. I don't think I'm the person you want to be telling your dreams to and since you gave me no details I can't really help you but here's a suggestion. I have a notebook next to my bed. Sometimes at night I think of something and need to write it down, but once in a while I write down my dreams. It's not a Divination thing. I don't know… Maybe it helps if it's a reoccurring thing? So that if you write it down you won't be thinking about it the whole time?_

_And thank you for asking about my safety. Some Order members __established enchantments__ around our house. Just to be sure, I'm __heading__to the Burrow in a couple of days for the rest of the summer. _

_I hope you can join me there soon, I can tell by Ginny's letters that she's worried about you. Yes, Harry we write about you, don't be mad, we just care about you especially since… Well, stay __safe__ Harry James Potter and see you soon._

_Hermione_

Harry smiled; leave it to Hermione to run straight to a book for help. The idea had some merit though. He had been thinking about the dream the whole day. It had been replaying in his head over and over again. He didn't have a suitable notebook at hand, but he had some loose papers lying around. When school began and magic was finally allowed again, he could copy those pages into a proper notebook he would purchase from that stationary shop which Hermione was so fond of. Harry usually missed it as he was too busy gazing back at the shop before it, the Quality Quidditch Supplies. He felt a pang in his heart as he recalled the summer he spent at the Leaky Cauldron and that Firebolt in the shop window...

A excited hoot interrupted his melancholic thoughts. Hedwig looked quite disapproving when Harry let Pig in. The little owl was still as chipper as ever.

"All right, all right, just hold still." Harry said a bit annoyed as he had to snatch the owl out of the air again. Ron's reply was far shorter than Hermione's.

_Harry,_

_These things can only happen to you! Just be careful, will you? Look, I sort of questioned my Dad about it since he was there. Lot of good it did. I got the usual 'you're too young' talk from my Mum. She says you need to be more careful as well and hopes you're eating enough. Women, honestly... Hermione's coming over in a day or so, I think. With Fred and George now gone it's the first time in years we're in the minority here. Bill's getting married, __so__ three guesses who's staying here? I'm sort of overwhelmed, so ask the Order when you can get here. I'll do the same. Some __colleagues __of Bill __were__ here __yesterday__ to tweak the __defences'__. Can't be that long then._

_Anyway, strange dreams; __they sound__ scary. You're certain it's not You-Know-Who? If you're certain, then maybe it's just dreams, mate. It's not that strange to have nightmares. Sorry I can't be of much help, but I'm glad you told me. Ginny says hi by the way._

_Well, see you soon. Is Hermione been bothering you about the OWL's? __She's going to make__ me as nervous as __she is__ if she keeps going on and on and on about it..._

_Ron _

Harry smirked, only Ron... He was really looking forward to going to the Burrow this summer. And the OWL's, honestly he hadn't thought about them in a while. Hermione certainly didn't bother him with it. He folded the letters and tugged them away before snuggling underneath his blanket. His friends were right; he could deal with nightmares as long as Voldemort stayed out of his head.

* * *

He was walking up the stairs in Grimmauld Place. Further down the hall, a door was slightly ajar. Harry walked towards it. The floor creaked beneath his feet with each step. Mistletoe was hanging from the ceiling. Someone giggled behind him and he sharply turned around. The landing was empty. The door felt warm and radiated heat. Harry pushed it further open and the sun shone in his face.

He opened his eyes again.

"Forty-nine, fifty! Here I come ready or not!" Harry shouted pushing himself of the bark and looked around. The sunny forest was silent and full of mischief. He smiled and shook his head still disbelieving he'd been talked into this. How his life had changed in the past year. It was difficult, frustrating, and downright scary sometimes, but he wouldn't trade one minute of it.

"Now where can he be?" He said out loud and suddenly jumped behind a bush. It remained empty after a rabbit hopped away rather indignantly. Harry walked a bit further searching the trees with narrowed eyes, but they didn't give him any answers. He pulled off his sweater, tying it around his hips. It was hot today even if he was walking mostly in the shade. When he saw the tree he had used as a counting post he slapped himself on the head. Now how far could a seven year old go in a mere fifty seconds? Harry pictured the boy hunching down in some hole, spying on his pathetic seeker skills and busy containing his giggles. He smiled at that conjured image. He ran his hand through his hair. Luckily Hermione's potion was working...

All of a sudden a scream pierced through the woods. The hair in his neck went straight up and Harry ran as fast as he could in the direction of the scream. Please let it be a joke, please let it be a joke, he repeated again and again in his mind as he dashed through the forest. _I won't even give him a lecture if it is..._

"Liam, LIAM!" Harry yelled, not watching where he was running. The next moment he tripped and yelped when his leg twisted painfully. He scrambled back up without slowing down. He cursed loudly; the calm and cheery forest was suddenly far wider and cooler than before. The trees where standing in his way wherever he turned. "Liam!" He shouted again, hoping he got an answer.

"Dad! Dad! HELP!" Harry's heart nearly stopped when he heard the fear in that voice. He hobbled on, stubbornly ignoring the pain. He was not going to lose anyone else! He pushed bushes aside, getting scratched by the tiny branches, as he stormed through the undergrowth. Suddenly the obstructions stopped and he almost tripped again, startled. Harry had reached a clearing. At the far edge, two unknown men hunched over a small bundle on the ground. He didn't think nor hesitate and drew the wand Hermione always insisted he carried with him even if it was pointless. He just aimed and yelled, "Expelliarmus!"

The effect of his anger was spectacular and instantaneously. With a tremendous _BANG_ the men were catapulted against the trees behind them. They hit the trunks with loud cracks and sank down on the ground to never rise again. Harry didn't even blink at their faith.

He never stopped moving and when he reached Liam he fell down on his knees fearing the worst. He gathered the child in his arms and checked for wounds. Liam protested weakly and the next moment he wrapped his thin arms around Harry's neck so tightly the wizard feared he would choke. It didn't matter; nothing mattered as long as Liam was safe... The boy was sobbing into his shirt now. That didn't matter either. Harry was quite content with staying right where he was: sitting on the forest floor, comforting Liam, giving himself a rest. After a while the boy leaned a bit backwards and dried his cheeks with a sniff. Again Harry was stunned by the bright innocent eyes that seemed to see into his very soul. He wiped away the remaining tears with his sleeve and handed Liam a handkerchief. The boy blew his nose and looked back up.

"You did magic." The child said awed.

"I didn't..." Harry wanted to argue but trailed off when he indeed noticed a wand lying next to his knee, "Mm, guess I did. Wow..." He said shocked and gazed at the foreign piece of wood.

"That was..." Liam breathed amazed and Harry could only reaffirm that sentiment, "I know." He picked up the wand and gently caressed the wood. His magic hummed contently. Harry closed his eyes briefly, relishing in that feeling. It was louder and more powerful than it had been in years. He put the wand, his wand now, away again and gave Liam another scrutinizing look.

"You're alright?" He asked just to be sure. Liam nodded and got of his lap. Harry raised himself with a bit more difficulty and a lot less elegance. Now that the adrenaline had worn off he felt the full effect of his unfortunate fall. With Liam's help he was able to walk somewhat normal. Still, Mione's going to kill me this time.

"I'm hungry." The child remarked casually as they walked out of the clearing into the forest. Liam pointed towards his stomach to emphasise it even more; the horror of the preceding minutes seemingly long forgotten. Harry rolled his eyes smiling and said, "You're so like Ron sometimes."

"And that's a good thing?" Liam asked innocently.

"A very good thing."

Harry opened his eyes closing them again the very next second. He was wide awake now but with closed eyes it was much easier to replay the dream in his head. This one was good, Harry thought, a little hesitantly. The fear when he ran through the forest and saw those men was so tangible it scared him even now. But what happened next was something else entirely. The relief and joy he felt when he held that little boy...

He smiled again and opened his eyes once more. As he turned on the light and reached for a piece of paper he remembered what the boy had called him. Weird... He wrote down what he saw, what he felt and the thrill of the dream left him gradually. Halfway during the retelling he paused. Who was Liam? He had dreamed about unknown persons before, but never with such accuracy and detail. He knew stuff about this boy he shouldn't. He knew the scrape on the child's hand was from the day before when they were fishing at a lake up north. Liam had lost his balance, surprised that he'd finally caught one. He knew where he found that dark green T-shirt the boy had been wearing. He even remembered helping to tie the child's laces a few hours earlier.

On the other hand he had no idea why the boy would call him 'Dad'. It fit though. Liam was as small as he had been at that age. He had similar but not the same hair. It was as messy as his but wasn't black. It was more brown than black. Liam had some freckles on his nose, the kind that reappeared each summer and disappeared each fall. The eyes had been the most striking feature possible because he had been looking at them from so close by. They were big and innocent, trusting, but for some reason he didn't know, also old and a bit sad. They were blue and grey, not a trace of green in them. Harry yawned and rubbed his eyes, knowing very well that he now had ink on his face. He was too tired to care though and fell back asleep immediately.

The next day after breakfast – at which he was ignored by the Dursleys - he picked up another paper and filled in the blanks of his midnight writing session. He had slept a few hours after his dream and had others but the vividness of the dream in the forest had remained. If he closed his eyes he could still smell being outdoors. He skipped lunch; trying not to imagine Mrs. Weasley giving him a lecture about steady eating habits. Around eight o'clock he went down to make himself a sandwich which he ate while making further notes. When it became too dark to write without a light, Harry looked up. He'd been so wrapped up with the dream that he hadn't notice the sun was already setting.

He sighed; going out now would push the limits of the Order's patience and he would probably find himself lumbered with another series of worried letters cautioninghim to be careful. He turned on the light switch and leaned back in his chair, taking in the vast amount of papers before him, all filled with his scrawny scribbles. With another sigh Harry put them back together in the right order and prepared for bed. He hoped the dreams were not a recurring thing. He didn't need another thing to worry about.

* * *

Bellatrix conjured a comfortable chair in front of him and sat down. She tapped the side. "I'm bored. Aren't you bored too?" She asked somewhat mockingly while staring down at him.

Harry didn't answer. Deigning Bellatrix with an answer or not; it made no difference. The result would be the same. His throat was still sore from their last session. He just looked up at her and glowered. He was leaning against his cell's wall and despite its chillness it was quite comfortable. He frankly didn't feel like moving at all. His limbs still felt heavy. The chain on his wrist was painfully tight. It was through trial and error he had learned not to scratch the scabs underneath. They only got more irritated when he did.

"Cat got your tongue?" She continued laughing with her own joke, "I don't believe I did. I know what's wrong with you, a young man your age." She said conspiratorially and leaned forward to whisper, "It's been a while since we had some company. Is there anyone left? Your precious Mudblood perhaps, or that ginger filly?"

Harry answered this time but she didn't hear him."Mmm? What's that, deary?" She asked sweetly. Harry considered for a second if repeat it would be such a good idea, but then again, what did it matter?

"I said," He raised his voice a bit, disliking the fact that he still sounded pathetically feeble and hoarse, "they're much too smart to get caught by the army of Flobberworms the head Voldeworm commands."

Bellatrix looked furious for a moment and Harry gave himself a point for making the vein above her temple throb. He would have given himself a pat on the back if he could lift his arms. He waited for the angry outburst to award himself another. He knew she hated not being in control. It was something they fought over repeatedly. It was the only thing he could still fight over.

She burst into laughter, "My my Potter, still so spirited. My Lord's going to like that. Has he come to visit you recently? No?"

Harry didn't answer this rhetorical question. One point to her, he thought disappointed. Bellatrix knows perfectly well Voldemort likes to keep his visits rare to make the experience so much 'sweeter'. He suppressed a shudder; something Bellatrix would have enjoyed. He couldn't let her see that her remark affected him.

"Now Harry deary, I like you, but I can't have you badmouthing the leader of the British Isles now can I?" She said amiably and twirled her wand around. "I found something special for such an occasion. Would you like to see?"

He stubbornly kept his eyes wide open and raised his chin, "I'll scream my lungs out, dear Bellatrix, but you can't stop me from thinking your hairless beau sent you here because he has no use for you in London. That must hurt the rock you call a heart deeply."

He smirked when she raised her wand swiftly. Her eyes were almost bulging out due to her anger. One point to me, he thought just before the curse struck.

He woke up screaming patting his arms fiercely to extinguish the flames. He rolled around; vaguely remembering you should do that when you're on fire. His feet got twisted in his sheet and he rolled of bed, landing with a muffled _thud_. Harry stopped moving and looked around disorientated. For a few confusing seconds he didn't really know where he was or if it was only a dream. It felt painfully real. As he became more and more aware of his surroundings he calmed down. Underneath the door he saw that the light in the hallway was burning. A few seconds later it was turned off again and a door was shut quietly. He was still in his room in Privet Drive and it looked as boring as when he went to sleep. Harry sat upright, still breathing erratically, and forced himself to inhale steadily while he untangled his feet. He heaved himself up and fell down onto the mattress exhausted.

He ran his hand over his face and rubbed his eyes. He pondered the option of writing some of it down. As it was, he was just too tired. His wrist was still cramped from the hours he'd spent writing and he really didn't want to recall the dream so quickly again. I'll do it tomorrow, he thought tiredly and after a final check around the room and on his arms he went back to sleep.

Or tried to at least; bits of the dream were weaving into others again and again, giving Harry a restless night. When dawn came he was still tired and in a foul mood. The fact that the newly arrived Daily Prophet had printed another sob story about him only made matters worse. The Dursleys knew he was to be avoided that morning as everyone, including Dudley, hurried out the kitchen after their first serving.

Harry sighed and went to shower. The warm water eased some of the tension he was still feeling. When he got out – careful not to slip on the wet floor as that would be a complete ironic end to his story – he heard the front door close with a _bang_. It wasn't that hard to guess the Dursleys evacuated the house for the day. He was still drying his damp hair with a towel when he entered his room. He paused abruptly. Two unfamiliar owls were sitting on his desk and staring right back at him. It was a bit unsettling.

He quickly put on a shirt and untied the owls' deliveries. One was a rather flat brown package. From the weight and feel of it he guessed it was a book. When he untied it the owl flew off immediately. The other one was a letter with the Hogwarts seal on. Feeling that one was the more pressing one he opened it and read through it quickly. Dumbledore had finally sent him a letter. He scanned it again and picked up a quill and a piece of parchment to pen down a swift reply.

So he was getting out on Friday evening. Finally. And Dumbledore himself was coming to pick him up. Harry hoped that meant the Headmaster would tell him more about Voldemort and how he was supposed to defeat him. The owl left and Harry turned the package around in his hands. Something dangerous couldn't have passed the protective spells around the house so he opened it. It was a book. And a letter, which fell to the ground. He picked it up and then looked back at the book. The cover read: _Miming the Magic - The Wonders of Nonverbal Casting by Panto M. Imbesi._

That sounded interesting and... weird. Harry opened the letter which was simple addressed to 'Mr. Potter'.

_Dear Harry Potter,_

_I hope you're well. I apologise for the lateness of this notice. I can imagine you must have been wondering what happened afterwards. Your friend, young Mr. Weasley apparently nagged his parents for information, so Arthur gently suggested I'd write you. So I'm well, me and the Order are on good terms again with the exception of a certain Mr. Moody and your dour Potion Master. The first is my fault completely. The second well... I'm letting you guess that reason._

_About the book, I know the title is rubbish, but it was __of__ great help __to__ me, __personally__. Also the writer is absolutely mad; think your DADA professor from second year kind of mad. It's a sad story really, I mean really, which makes it so much more amusing to read. Mr. Imbesi was __an__ Italian wizard who lost his voice in a fight with his mother-in-law. He then struggled years to perfect his very own silent technique which consisted of a wide array of nonverbal spells and some idiotic body movements. Scratch the movements. It's nonsense, absurd, ridiculous and __its__ only purpose__ it might fulfil is distracting your opponent by making him wonder why his adversary is hopping around the place like a ballerina on electroshock therapy. So DON'T use them! Unless you're duelling your mother-in-law who in the story of Mr. Imbesi was so baffled she dropped her wand thus ending the yearlong vendetta by giving him the chance to turn her into a cow. Never mind... _

_What's important in this book is underlined and I've written some tips in the margins. You've got potential, kid and you're well on your way in becoming a powerful wizard. Now I've been reading some stuff in the Prophet and frankly I don't care if you're the Chosen One or not. He-Who-Has-Trouble-With-Staying-Dead killed your parents and has threatened you and your friends. On the other hand, Voldemort's obsessed about you. And last June you put some of his faithful servants behind bars and thwarted his plans yet again. I'm guessing you're way past the point of being a mere thorn in his side. Odds are you'll be facing him again and soon. I apologise if this is rather blunt, but I'm sure you dislike vague speeches and allusions to what's going on and will happen._

_So, read the book and do some of the exercises that don't require a wand. I have it on good authority that the focus in Defence this year will be nonverbal spells and between you and me your professor is a real piece of work. So __it is__ best to be prepared._

_You'll see me soon enough, be careful until then. Constant vigilance, as Mr. Moody says. He hates it when you parrot him. If you don't hear from me again Mad-Eye lost his patience. No offense to the Order but I sometimes question their mediating skills. _

_Dorian Moran_

Harry smiled as he put the letter away and hopped on his bed. It felt very reassuring that someone else was looking out for him. He turned to the first page and half of it was filled with a portrait of Mr. Imbesi who greeted him in a rather absurd way fluttering his fingers on an invisible piano and twisting his legs in a strange rhythm. Harry riffled though the book and smirked. It seemed parts of it were animated. Moran's description was rather accurate. He shoved another pillow behind his back, stretched out his legs and actually looked forward to an afternoon of reading.

I do love magic, he thought when the Italian wizard did a perfect imitation of a grazing cow.

* * *

**Please leave a review! I would love to read your opinion!**

**Okay now some bad news. The next chapter will be posted somewhere in June, I've deadlines and exams… **


	5. The Prowess of Performing

**After a long summer break (I hope every enjoyed their holidays!), here's the next chapter. This one is Snape's POV again.**

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Prowess of Performing**

Green smoke rose up from his first cauldron signalling the next stage of the brewage so Severus carefully measured ten drops of armadillo bile while keeping one eye fixed on his fourth cauldron. A few more minutes of simmering and he could add the root bark of the Yew tree, thereby finishing another batch of Skele-Gro. The basement at Spinner's End was a rudimentary replica of his laboratory at Hogwarts with just enough space to cram together seven standard sized cauldrons. Unfortunately any charms to expand the room would deteriorate the quality of most of his creations due to the magic's influence. Severus sighed wiping away some beads of sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand.

The fact that he was brewing here instead of at Hogwarts wasn't just because it was summer. Some of these potions, with the exception of Skele-Gro, were either illegal or borderline dark. The conjured image of Dumbledore's deeply disappointed sad sigh was just not worth the risk, nor the lecture that usually followed that obnoxious behaviourism. Severus quickly lowered the flames underneath the fifth cauldron and started to stir. Five stirs counter clockwise, one clockwise with the exception of every third cycle were an additional clockwise stir increased the potency of the concoction. It was something he discovered in his Sixth Year at Hogwarts.

Halfway through the fifth cycle his Mark flared up. Stoically he stopped; knowing very well that he would have to start over again since stasis charms at this stage of this particular brew were dangerous. He curled his lip in distaste as he watched the potion going to ruin. It would indeed be a miracle if he managed to finish all of these potions on time with both sides demanding his attention.

* * *

Not ten minutes later he strode into the Malfoy's transformed ballroom. The long windows which normally lit the vast chamber from two sides were blinded. Artificial light was barely sufficient to lit up the entire space and Severus shot hasty glances at every shadowy corner to be sure nobody else was watching. Since the failed raid on Amelia Bones the Dark Lord was getting extremely paranoid, more so than usual and was convinced a spy was amongst their ranks. As he could honestly say that he knew nothing of the Dark Lord's plan until the very last moment he wasn't under any suspicion for now. But while his position in the Dark Lord's eyes was strong – and mattered the most for his continued existence – he knew most of his fellow Death Eaters would gladly put the blame on him. Only a fool would be unconcerned with their favourable position. Lucius had been such a fool. With the Dark Lord as fickle as ever with dealing out favours or Cruciatus Curses, it would only be a matter of time before the wheel spun down again.

And speaking of the Dark Lord... At the very end of the chilled room a long table was placed right in front of the impressive fireplace where snakes seemed to coil on top of each other in a stream of movement as the blazing fire lit up the marble ornaments.

"My lord." Severus bowed reverently and gently rose when the Dark Lord waved him up. The cruel faced man was seated at the head of the table in the company of Bellatrix and Mulciber who he, with another wave with his hand, dismissed. Bellatrix however lingered for a few seconds at the edge of the table frame. Severus shot her a light scowl and flexed his right hand in her full view. _Unbelievable, even after the Vow she still doesn't trust me._

"Bella," The Dark Lord admonished lightly, a clear sign he was in a splendid mood, otherwise Crucio's would have been cast around. With a final glare directed at him Bellatrix left. Last year he was beyond nervous to be in the same room with the recent resurrected Dark Lord. He was resigned, his position as spy was either safe or not. This time however he was in a far better position to deal with the Dark Lord. He knew he was trusted again and more importantly the Dark Lord was pleased with him. Of course this was measured only in relation to others and could change on a whim if he wasn't cautious enough. He would have to tread more carefully than Lucius.

"Severus, my faithful spy, rumour has it you took a definitive step towards Dumbledore's downfall a few days ago." He sounded benign but the slight narrowing of the Dark Lord's eyes told Severus he was irritated. Most likely because hadn't received this news from the potion master in person. So Severus started to grovel.

"My apologies, my Lord, I was under the wrongful impression that I had to remain away from the Manor unless called for. In future, I shall strive to serve you better."

"No worries, Severus, no worries, you did well." Lord Voldemort assured after a tentative pause, "It must be gratifying to know when it will all end. I almost wish I could be there. You'll show me the memory of course of how you smote your long time mentor. Oh, the look of betrayal when he realized he was wrong all these years."

"Of course, my Lord, I confess I look forward to that moment as well." Severus smirked gleefully confident his real feelings were hidden behind layers and layers of distasteful memories of teaching at Hogwarts. It was not surprising that his memories about a certain insolent brat were exceptionally useful for this endeavour.

"I can imagine it will be most cathartic." Lord Voldemort smiled benevolently and motioned Severus to take a seat. "On that note, I hope I need not to remind you that you're not to touch the boy, Severus. I shall deal with him myself." Meanwhile a House Elf appeared with wine and poured out two goblets with trembling hands.

"Now Severus," The Dark Lord took a sip of wine, an unspoken signal that Severus could do so as well. "Tell me how old Dumbledore's fairing."

"He's still weakened by the duel he fought with you, My Lord."

"After a full month?" The Dark Lord frowned disbelievingly.

"As you said, he's old and My Lord, you are the most powerful wizard alive." Severus lied smoothly; the flattery easily taken for the truth. "Only the constant companionship of his pet phoenix sustains him. Don't misunderstand me, My Lord. He's still powerful, but he knows his days are numbered. That realization produces some interesting effects on his psyche." Severus went on. The last part at least wasn't a lie. If Albus had been slightly erratic and completely eccentric before he put on the cursed ring, though you could severely question his sanity before that point as well, he was, as the Weasley spawn would say, 'completely off his rocker' now. Severus nerves were quite strained every time the Headmaster spoke so calmly about his death. It was as if the man was just arranging a trip abroad with himself resigned to the role of a travel agent merely dealing with the logistics. It was positively maddening the way Albus spoke of the 'next big adventure'.

Meanwhile the Dark Lord was contemplatively swirling the wine in his goblet. "That's excellent news, Severus. "

"My Lord, pardon my forwardness, but might I enquire what made you so happy earlier? I desperately yearn for some good news after that Bones fiasco."

"Certainly Severus," Voldemort acquiesced, "Mulciber just informed he managed to successfully cast the Imperius Curse on several Ministry workers in every department."

"My Lord? In every department?" He echoed, "That's splendid news!" Severus exclaimed happily barely refraining from spluttering.

"I agree, I discovered that Muggles have one laudable characteristic after all. They work quite well as a distraction. The ruse with the Muggle Minister's assistant was a perfect diversion." The Dark Lord twirled the wine in his glass around in delight revelling in the Ministry's incompetence, "Even Scrimgeour missed what was going on inside his former department." Severus acknowledged that the Ministry was a lost cause and took another sip of his wine to postpone his comment. Meanwhile he made a mental note Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks had to be warned. An infiltration inside the Auror's Office could lethally hamper the workings of the Order.

"That doesn't surprise me, My Lord," He said as he methodically placed the goblet back on the mahogany table, "those pencil pushers don't even come close to your brilliant scheming."

The Dark Lord smirked, "Severus, your flattery while noted and appreciated is rather present this evening. Is this performance preceding ill news?" There was a long pause after this.

"My Lord, you're very perceptive as always-" Severus gulped and appeared to be stumbling over his words. In truth he was nervous. Luckily the Dark Lord was still amused.

"Severus…"

"The Order has a new member and Hogwarts a new Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher." The professor said quickly but clearly and then waited. When no curses were uttered he continued more slowly, "I'm sorry I failed you, My Lord. I know you were counting on me teaching the Defence subject this year. I was positive the old coot would finally grant me my wish."

"And yet he disappointed you again." The Dark Lord shook his head in empathy. It was quite convincing. His younger, more naive self might have believed it, but Severus wasn't eighteen years old anymore. The Dark Lord's empathy was as real as Severus' loyalty. "Remember Severus," Lord Voldemort continued, "only I offer just rewards for decade long loyalty. As a result, you're forgiven for your misdirection."

"Thank you, my Lord, you're too kind."

"Drink more of your wine, Severus, I'm told this is the best wine Malfoy Manor can provide. Sadly it's of a more worthy vintage than its previous owner deserves."

Severus swallowed his wine and proceeded tentatively, "My Lord, about Draco, can I speak my mind?"

"Not you as well, Severus! The boy was positively beaming when I gave him my Mark. He's very honoured to be in my service as he should be." The Dark Lord sighed and waved his hand in acquiescence, "But if you must."

"Your anger at Lucius is perfectly justified, but Draco will only get himself killed-"

"Then he'll die for our cause as I expect from every faithful Death Eater." Voldemort interrupted him abruptly and Severus knew from his tone he had to tread carefully if he wished to continue this thread of conversation. The Dark Lord petted Nagini who came slithering in and went on, "Lucius should be pleased I'm giving them another chance to show the Malfoy Family's worth instead of ending his line this instant. And who knows, young Draco might surprise us in the end."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Everything depends on how spectacularly he failed. I know that you care for the boy, Severus, so see that he doesn't. Who knows I might spare his life as a favour to you."

"You're too generous, my Lord." Severus bowed his head.

"Now, tell me more about the latest Defence professor."

"He calls himself Dorian Moran. I don't know much about him as I've never seen or heard of him before. At the moment he's a riddle." The potion master mused out loud, "He had the most peculiar effect on the Headmaster and I don't believe he trusts his newly acquired professor completely. Dumbledore ordered me to watch him though so gathering more information won't be a problem." Severus explained and took another sip of his wine. "I do know however that he's a complete annoyance; another fan of Potter."

"A quality he unfortunately shares with most of the Wizarding World." The Dark Lord remarked dryly.

"On the other hand he's not the average Gryffindorish bootlicker. At first sight maybe, since he was caught by the Order inside Potter's house. The stupid brat had let him in. Moran then somehow angered Alastor Moody along the way which was neither subtle nor useful. But that isn't what worries me, my Lord. He refused to take Veritaserum and Occlumency claiming he knew things that we shouldn't know about. I don't know how he did it but he managed to convince the Headmaster to talk to him in private; somehow in that half hour the man attained the teaching position. When the Headmaster called me up afterwards he looked severely shaken and distracted."

"That is worrisome indeed." The Dark Lord folded his hands and began tapping his chin with his index fingers. After a minute of silence he seemed to have reached a conclusion, "What's your professional opinion about the new professor?"

"I fear he's more than capable. Apparently he gave Potter some advice already. Furthermore, when Moran had left the room, Dumbledore confided in me that he was relieved that the castle acquired another staff member proficient in duelling. Remarkable thing really since Moran has a severe limp and needs a cane to be mobile. He's however definitely more powerful than the average wizard, confident as well." Severus added.

"Arrogant?"

"Contemptuous to some." Severus conceded, "Another thing, when the old man asked me to keep an eye on him he suggested that we would get along because of our mutual interest in the Dark Arts."

"Excellent, try to persuade him to our cause and do keep a close eye on him. It vexes me that there's an unknown in the castle, Severus." The Dark Lord was again silent for a while and Severus didn't know if the powerful wizard was thinking about the castle's newest resident or concocting his next step in his rise to power and privilege.

"Can he be a former student?"

"Could be, my Lord, he's approximately thirty years old. I've already taken the liberty already to check the alumni records and student enrolment registers from 1974 to 1987 just to be on the safe side as he could have been a transfer student in later years, but there's no trace of a 'Dorian Moran' ever attending Hogwarts. It's obviously a false name. However if he is an alumni of Hogwarts I'm as good as certain he was in our house."

"A Slytherin on the side of the Light." Lord Voldemort pondered out loud, "I don't like the implications."

"Neither do I." Severus said gravely, whilst enjoying the irony of the situation with great relish. Who needed frivolous distractions to entertain themselves when crossing words with the Dark Lord offered the same thrill?

* * *

Not long after finishing his conversation with the Dark Lord where he got his usual orders of being the spy and another potion order, Severus paused on his way to the main entrance when he faintly heard someone mentioning his name. Rightly curious he moved from the middle of the corridor towards the nearest door which was opened slightly just enough for noise to travel through. He lingered at the doorway and listened recognizing Bellatrix' grating voice as she continued speaking.

"… trust Snape? He used every single ounce of that old coot's influence to stay out of Azkaban, denouncing our Lord-"

Severus heard enough and entered using a little more force against the door than necessary. The effect was well worth the small effort when it slammed against the wall with a loud bang. Who knew a room with a half dozen Death Eaters could startle as badly as a class of Hufflepuffs?

Severus smirked, "You might as well be accusing me of being _too_ Slytherin."

"Were you spying on us, Severus?" Bellatrix said scornful recovering from her shock without batting an eyelash.

"Amusing, Bellatrix, as was your secret meeting just now." Severus drawled, "Word of advice," He went on addressing the rest of the Death Eaters as if he were addressing first years, "if you want to discuss someone don't do it in a chamber they have to walk past by to get out." He was about to turn around to leave as he had reached his goal of reverting their doubt for now when Bellatrix interrupted him.

"You're planning something, Snape." She accused him again narrowing her eyes in the process.

"Presumably." Severus conceded.

"You'll betray us in the end." She went a step further and Severus had to fight the urge not to roll his eyes.

"Are you clairvoyant now?" He sneered, "Maybe that way you'll succeed in giving the Dark Lord his prophecy." He watched with satisfaction how her nostrils bristled with anger and went on, "Your grasp on reality is ever so strong Bellatrix or have you forgotten I took an Unbreakable Vow. If I want to live – and I assure you all that I rather like breathing – the leader of the Light will be dead in a year."

"You should have taken a Vow not to betray our Lord." Bellatrix argued vehemently.

"A Vow he doesn't demand from me as it would make my work as a spy rather difficult." He countered smoothly and turned to leave.

At the door Severus paused however and looked back over his shoulder, "And Bellatrix, I offered."

* * *

The next day went rather well. There were no unexpected interruptions, Wormtail was out of sight busy with some boggarts and Severus managed to finish six different batches of potions. Normally he would want nothing more than to sit in front of his fire with a good book and half a bottle of Firewhiskey, but tonight Albus had called another Order meeting. And for the first time since the resurrection of the Order, Severus admitted that he was actually looking forward to it.

Order meetings at their best – or worst depending on your perspective – could only be called boisterous. Severus was quite familiar with the disruptions and arguments caused by cramming thirty or something witches and wizards in a small space. And since this summer explosions got added to the list. The later was entirely the Weasleys' fault of course as the twins took Moody's 'CONSTANT VIGILANCE' to a stride and attempted to test the Order's vigilance – and patience. Fortunately they refrained from doing so during the actual meetings but before or after was fair game apparently. It amused Albus. Severus wanted to throttle them, or at least squeeze until their ridiculous identical grins ceased to exist, so nothing new there. The rest of the Order endured and had a good laugh now and then. As their former professor he was well aware of their combined cunning and never _ever _entered the Headmaster's office first or last since the twins' induction into the Order.

Severus strode in quickly and planted himself against one of the many bookcases lining the Headmaster's office. Albus had enlarged his desk for the occasion with enough room for half of the members to sit down while the others, like himself, lingered at the fringes. His newest colleague was sitting down, his cane leaning against the desk. He was conversing softly with Arthur Weasley. Severus took his time to study Moran. The man looked tired but alert, a rather unusual combination but not that surprising considering...

Before he could finish his thought, Moran looked up at him, a knowing smirk appearing on his lips. Severus narrowed his eyes. He hated the feeling that Moran knew more about him than the other way around and vouched then and there to rectify that as soon as possible.

"Good, good. Gather around everyone." Albus spoke when Tonks stumbled through the door sprouting two bunny ears. She was glaring at the twins as she hurried to an empty place in the crowded office. Remus took pity on her pulling out his wand to help and a second later the ears were gone.

"I would like you all to welcome a new member to our cause." Albus waved his hand in the direction of the man who appeared rather uncomfortable under all those inquisitive glances. "This is Dorian Moran, a past acquaintance of mine who found his way back to England just in time to fill in the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor." The Headmaster announced this as if he was just talking about the weather. The rest of the Order members were silent for a second. Those who hadn't met Moran before were eagerly leaning in closer trying to form some sort of opinion on the man. Those who had met him were somewhat more reserved with the exception of Moody.

"Albus, I must object." The retired Auror argued immediately shocking the rest of the Order with his vehemence, "He isn't trustworthy!"

"Are you basing your opinion of me on one encounter?" It was Moran himself who answered Moody calmly. Apparently Albus was content in letting whatever was going on play out.

"I'm basing it on my instincts." Moody countered.

"I think you're confusing your instincts with paranoia. Not following every ridiculous order you barked at me doesn't make me a fraud. Listen Moody, I was annoyed." Moran explained slowly emphasising those words, "You all arrived too late at young Harry's house and then you dragged me across the castle without giving me the courtesy of my walking stick. Of course I wasn't going to be polite."

"And you just happened to be at the right place at the right time for the Headmaster to find a new professor? Coincidences are seldom that."

"Hopeless..." Moran rolled his eyes and sighed, "I already told you that night that it was on purpose. I was trying, and may I add succeeding, in leaving an impression on my soon to be employer. It was a test, one which you failed by the way." He informed the old Auror.

"What! You -" Moody was interrupted before he could spout some insults.

"I had ten minutes alone with Mr. Potter." Moran raised his voice slightly as he continued, "I could have killed him, hid his body, escaped to a tropical beach and ordered a second shot of Firewhiskey without problems."

Moody just went on with his rant ignoring the rather indignant huff of one Molly Weasley, "You could be lulling us into complacency, making us trust you before you run away to your Master-"

Moran stood up abruptly and his cane clattered loudly on the floor while he gripped the desk with such force his knuckles were turning white, "Mr. Moody, I've been fairly tolerable until now." Moran took a deep breath, "I suggest you end it here."

Severus was slightly impressed that Moran had kept his calm until now. His 'suggestion' however was anything but that. The atmosphere had changed dramatically. Looking at Moran now, cool and collected and ready for anything, he could see why Albus had told him they had gained another skilful dueller among the staff. You can't fake that confidence, not if your outward appearance normally shouted the opposite. And while at first glance Moran looked like he had ended up on the losing side of a war, now he seemed ready to fight another.

"Alastor, Dorian." Albus spoke sternly finally interrupting the argument. Severus saw one twin pass a Galleon to the other when the tangible tension deflated. Moran sank back down on his chair and accepted his cane from the oldest Weasley with a thankful nod.

"Splendid, now if the both of you could just shake hands." Both men stared disbelieving at the Headmaster and Severus couldn't help but roll his eyes. The Headmaster's undying optimism was tiresome at most times. Now it was just pathetically futile. Moody and Moran's interactions so far were starting to rival his and Black's. And that was just after two encounters.

Nonetheless Moody shuffled a bit closer, Moran leaned forward and under the watchful eye of the Headmaster they – very reluctantly – shook hands.

"There, there," Albus smiled benignly, "that wasn't so hard."

You didn't need to be an Occlumens to know what Moody was thinking. Moran on the other hand was completely unreadable. The wizard seemed to realize this as well because he copied Albus' smile and asked, "What shall we do next, Albus? Dance around in a circle and chant for peace?"

The fact that Albus didn't even blink at the mere ludicrousness of that suggestion, told Severus much about how well the two of them knew each other. The Headmaster clearly had expected this sort of attitude. To be frank, their sudden familiarity surprised Severus much more than the discord between Moody and Moran. Since he was staying at Spinner's End he couldn't be sure, but it would seem that Albus had played host to their newest professor already.

The rest of the Order meeting went without a hitch. Severus gave his report about the meeting with the Dark Lord. Shacklebolt and Tonks were very troubled after hearing the news about Mulciber. Nobody new had started in their department meaning it could basically be anybody. Moran listened interested but silent to all of the plans and reports until they came on topic of the Prophet's articles about Potter and what should be done further.

"Don't tell me _the_ Order of the Phoenix is sitting around waiting for a sixteen year old boy to kill Voldemort. Albus…" Moran interrupted the Headmaster's censored version of the Prophecy gravely irritated.

The Headmaster coughed and explained, "What Moran is trying to say is that he believes the Order should have a more active approach instead of a reactive approach."

"What do you mean?" Remus asked. It was rather obvious that the wolf wanted to keep Potter out of danger. Severus tightened his jaw. As if the boy would be acquiescent in his ignorance. Personally he thought Albus should have told Potter about the Prophecy much earlier. Maybe not its content but the mere existence of such a thing could have prevented a lot of damage on both sides. The night at the Ministry had set the war in motion in a way he couldn't control it anymore. Regardless of the fact that the public now knew about the Dark Lord's return, if it wasn't for Potter's idiocy and damn luck he wouldn't have had a sixteen year old Death Eater on his hands.

He snapped his attention back to the meeting when Moran said his name, "If Snape tells you about a planned raid, what do you do?" He asked looking around the table.

"We can't exactly blow his cover…" Arthur ventured carefully.

"Exactly. And I'm sure he appreciates that concern." Mmm, Severus wasn't even sure of Moran was being sarcastic or not…

Moran continued, "So basically you can't act on everything you know, which is almost as bad as perpetrating the acts themselves because how do you choose which dark plan of Voldemort will be foiled?" He directed the question at Albus who remained wilfully ignorant that he was the one Moran was addressing now. The wizard sighed, "So, hypothetically speaking, what if we got the same information from some other route?"

"Another spy?" Shacklebolt raised doubtful. Moran was smirking now, "Not exactly."

"Moran, we're not going to torture people for information." Albus stated promptly.

"Death Eaters." The Defence professor replied just as fast. It was Severus' turn to smirk seeing the baffled expressions on the rest of the Order when they realised it wasn't a joke.

"What?" Arthur frowned, presumably thinking he missed some vital piece of information.

"You'll not torture Death Eaters." Moran clarified to all the occupants of the room.

"Dorian." Albus insisted sharply, cutting of an argument that had started long before this meeting if Severus could read both wizards' expressions correctly.

"Fine, just making sure you were using synonyms that fit…" Moran agreed reluctantly, shocking the rest of the Order even more with his loose take on morality. Severus silently agreed or at least could understand Moran's frustration. It was incredibly hard to fight a war when one side had no moral objections to torture and murder. "To ease everyone's concern, I was not talking about torture. Thank you for that Albus. Let's say I have a way of getting that information in a civil childproof way. None of you would lose any sleep over it."

"And that is?" Moody ordered.

"Ah, can't reveal my source I'm afraid. What if you were kidnapped again?" Moran answered light-heartedly with a grin. Again Severus had to suppress a smirk when he saw the vein above Moody's fake eye throb angrily. Moran sure knew what buttons not to press and amused himself by doing just that.

Then he realised with utter dread that Moran was his new colleague...

Their gathering ended with the announcement that the next one would probably be held at Grimmauld Place again once the Potter boy had claimed Black's inheritance. Albus was going to fetch the boy himself tomorrow and would deal with it then. Severus just hoped Black had known what he was doing, otherwise Bellatrix would be even more unbearable to be around, cackling madly and smug. Moran remained seated and watched the Order members leave one by one. After the Defence professor accepted an invitation from Molly Weasley to come to the Burrow for dinner sometime, Albus went to him gripping the younger man's chair as he leaned in closer.

"Dorian, I understand your frustration-" He spoke softly but Severus was still standing close enough to hear what was said.

"Understand? I don't need you to merely understand Albus. I need you to let me do what needs to be done." Moran argued quietly and tried to get up. This happened with much more difficulty than when he was arguing with Moody. The potion master noticed Moran retrieving a vial from his pocket and downed its contents in one gulp. Albus watched this with sad eyes, but it didn't stop him from lecturing on. It was clear to Severus that the Headmaster and Moran had spoken about these issues before the meeting and somehow Moran had let him down.

"And you'll get there, just…" Albus was whispering now and Severus discretely craned his neck to hear the rest, "I'm taking a great risk in letting you be part of this. Don't betray that trust."

"You know me Albus, I won't do anything you wouldn't do." Moran answered just as quiet but intently. The old wizard didn't look reassured in the slightest.

"Dorian-"

"I think I'll retire for the night, Albus." Moran effectively put a halt to whatever Albus was about to say, "The potion I took is making me woozy." He walked towards the exit and turned back when he reached the door, "Oh, and I was serious about Alastor Moody. If he needs to duel me to shut up about my so-called questionable motives, I will. So talk to the man if you want the Order meetings to remain calm."

In that moment Severus realised something he'd been missing so far. While it was apparent that Albus and Moran knew each other, they weren't friends. On the contrary, Moran merely tolerated the Headmaster without respecting the older wizard. And while Severus knew Albus Dumbledore wasn't infallible – the Headmaster's blackened hand was testimony to that – in Moran's presence the formidable wizard seemed to shrink down to the size of a mere mortal.

Dorian Moran blamed Albus for something and the Headmaster felt guilty enough for Severus to notice.

"What was that all about?" Severus asked when Moran closed the door of the office and left the two wizards alone.

"Mistakes have the tendency of repeating themselves, Severus." Albus answered cryptically, "And being confronted with them sadly does not change what is done."

"You were rather brief tonight, Severus," Albus changed the direction of their conversation quickly, "Should I be worrying about something?"

"Bellatrix is stirring up trouble again."

"You assured me the Vow would resolve any lingering problems you still had concerning your loyalty." Albus reproached him gently and sighed. With a wave of his wand, his desk reduced in size once more and he sank onto his chair, "I worry about you, Severus."

"The Dark Lord isn't asking the questions so you and I have nothing to worry about."

"For now." Albus remarked. Severus merely nodded; it was the truth. He had to be extra careful with what information he parted to the Order and what they did with that information. He knew without a doubt that Moran's 'source' was the one causing the worry within the Death Eaters' ranks.

"Don't forget about your other mission, Severus."

"Which one?" Severus asked with a sigh.

"Getting better acquainted with Dorian. I believe you both might enjoy a game of chess."

"He's on his way to his chambers to rest, Albus. You heard the man. I assume he moved into the castle already?"

"He was eager to be out of my presence, Severus. I know you reached that conclusion as well." The Headmaster shook his head tiredly, "And yes, he's occupying the Defence quarters looking out over the Black Lake. If you hurry, you might catch him before he reaches his rooms."

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Albus was correct. He intercepted his colleague halfway there. "Moran." He shouted and was surprised the man waited patiently for him to catch up.

"What was that all about?" He asked repeating the same question he asked the Headmaster.

"Really subtle, for a Slytherin." Moran remarked. Severus could be patient at times and folded his arms waiting for an answer. When Moran didn't get a reaction to his question like he anticipated the man sighed amused.

"Are you just going to stand there and stare until I give an answer?" He asked futilely, as Severus wasn't planning to curb his curiosity just yet. The wizard now narrowed his eyes in suspicion and tilted his head, "Does that work on your students?" Moran pondered aloud.

After a few more long seconds Moran finally caved, "It's nothing to be worried about." As if that ever sounded convincing, Severus thought. "Albus and I were just having a small disagreement."

Moran waited for some reaction to that admission, but Severus had learned a long time ago that people tended to fill the silence themselves with much more than they were willing to share. It was comforting to know that for all the mystery around him, Moran was fallible as well when the wizard spoke again.

"Do you know what wins wars in the end?" Moran asked walking further and motioned Severus to follow him, "It's neither the amount of soldiers you have fighting, nor the amount of weapons, although both do count. But at the end it all comes down to one simple choice: do I go right or do I go left?"

"Information." Severus supplied the answer because what else could it be? It was exactly why his position as a spy was both precarious and important to the Order.

"Exactly; and I have it. Albus wants what he can't have." The younger wizard stated. Severus frowned at those words, "So you're blackmailing the Headmaster?" He asked, "That's how you got the position?"

"Or it might be my charm." Moran smirked as they entered another corridor. Severus briefly noted that they were almost at the Defence quarters, much quicker than he anticipated as Moran could walk as fast as him with the aid of his cane. He hadn't expected that.

"And this is all you're willing to tell, Moran?" He looked to his side and watched how the corners of the wizard's mouth wrinkled up with mischievousness. He was almost as bad as those Weasley twins when they were up to something.

"For now." Moran answered still carrying that not so innocent smile on his lips. They arrived at Moran's private rooms where the wizard halted.

"Do you play chess, Severus?" Moran asked and his question told Severus the Headmaster was busy playing puppet master again. He didn't believe in coincidences. However, the professor almost twitched at the blatant use of his given name, something which he hadn't given his permission to do so. He was about to reply with his usual snarl when he remembered that both the Headmaster and the Dark Lord wanted him to play nice with the latest Defence professor. Though his new resolve to play nice was immediately challenged when he noticed that Moran was _expecting_ a snarling remark. Actually the man seemed to be looking forward to it as if it would confirm something about him. Because it was clear to him that Moran was well aware he had crossed a line too soon testing another button to push. Inwardly Severus bristled with annoyance, hating the fact that he almost went along with it. He was not Moody, however. He was a spy and a damn good one at that. In no time he should be able to manipulate this situation to play out in his favour.

On the upside of things, this invitation showed that Moran was just as eager to spent time with him as he did with Moran; although the man was probably not as reluctant. The question which remained unanswered at the moment was what Moran hoped to gain from their interactions.

"I can manage a fair game when the stakes are worthwhile." Severus responded neutrally waiting for Moran to grab the bait with both hands.

"Come in then, I have a set somewhere gathering dust. What sort of stakes were you thinking about?" Moran said and walked into his quarters turning his back to the potion master who followed closely almost rubbing his hands together in glee. Moran was asking what he wanted to drink, but Severus was only half listening already contemplating which chess opening to use while observing the man's quarters.

Sparsely was the first word that popped into his head. The living room was rather bare, its whitewashed walls empty and while a welcoming fire was crackling in the fireplace the mantelpiece was barren as well with the exception of a container of Floopowder. There were two bookshelves, still empty, and one cabinet where Moran was pouring out their drinks. In the middle of the room were two fauteuils and a couch with a coffee table in front of it. There was one door in the room not counting the one that led to the hallway. Severus assumed Moran kept most of his possession in there or hadn't gotten around unpacking yet. Even his quarters weren't this depressing and he was supposed to be the bat of the dungeon.

"Firewhiskey," Severus answered and let himself get comfortable in one of the fauteuils, "How do you feel about playing for favours?"

"I'm not sure." Moran answered cautiously as he floated Severus' glass over.

The potion professor snatched it out of the air, "So you're willing to duel with Mad-Eye Moody but back away from a simple game of chess?"

"Well, it doesn't exactly require the same set of skills." Moran objected.

"I'll go easy on you." Severus lied effortlessly. The other wizard was being difficult, his expression practically screaming his disbelief, so Severus added begrudgingly, "You can even be White."

Moran sighed resigned to his loss already and silently summoned his chess set. "I haven't played against a real person in ages." He warned Severus.

"It's like riding a bicycle or so the Muggles say." He tried to lull the man's worries even more while noticing this was a Muggle chess set which suited his plan just fine. It removed the unfair advantage the owner of the chess set had in Wizarding Chess.

If all went well in this innocent game, he would know much more about that damned elusive Dorian Moran. After all information was vital in all circumstances, not just in war.

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**Next chapter will be posted sooner this time. Please leave a review, they make me happy :)**


	6. Interlude: Branching Out

**A/N: Important plotwise and very fun to write! :) I can't believe the reactions I got on my previous update, you guys are brilliant!  
**

**And thank you Madame Cyanure for beta'ing!**

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**Interlude 1: Branching Out**

From his place behind the bar Juceau had the best view of the entrance. Even when the place was swamped with customers he could still keep one eye firmly fixed on that door. An unexpected raid sanctioned by the Ministry or some men who came in for the sole purpose of searching a fight where bad for business. For instances like that Juceau had a few contingency plans ready that failed or succeeded depending on the swiftness of his reaction. It was solely due to this habit that he noticed Rook slipping in; his entrance carefully masked by a band of boisterous men loudly proclaiming their success in some venture. Almost immediately Rook vanished into one of the corners most likely to handle one of his transactions.

Ever since that first night Rook had made a regular appearance in his tavern and in no time the stranger had befriended most of his regulars with an ease that baffled even Juceau, especially if one considered the healthy dose of paranoia most of his tavern goers possessed. There was just something completely endearing about that man. The fact that he took no nonsense of anyone also fortified his growing position among his trusted clientele. You didn't make deals with someone without a backbone and a capability in duelling. You didn't because it was easier to rob them. No one who had spoken with Rook, who consistently forgot to mention his true name another fact his patrons liked, would dare to double cross him.

A few minutes later Juceau deserted his bar to collect empty glasses and pretend to wipe the tables he spotted Rook deeply involved in a baiting game. It was quite a simple game actually and that was one of the appeals it had for those drinking in his bar. Even someone with a befuddled brain from Firewhiskey understood the rules. Another reason was that it was utterly and completely dangerous. There were four identical black urns, their diameter no larger than your regular dinner plate but as high as a bottle of Butterbeer. They were placed on a rotating cylinder and spun around fast. The challenger had to pick one of them and retrieve the Galleon on the bottom of it. There were four pots and four Galleons. There were also three venomous snakes. Juceau didn't know what kind of snake they were and frankly didn't care. It provided amusing entertainment and the snakes had yet to kill someone. Their bite was extremely painful though and depending on the person or the amount of poison, hallucinations would follow. Highly entertaining, indeed.

Rook was looking unperturbed at the spinning urns leaning back against his chair and waited patiently until they stopped.

Nigel taunted, "Well, where's your Galleon, Rook?" You also had to donate one of your own Galleons so the winnings were meagre at best, but that was not the reason so many of his customers played. It was the thrill and the danger that made it so attractive. Juceau paused with pretending to work for a moment as every man in their vicinity craned their necks or stood up to see what would happen. Rook smirked rolling up his sleeve and leaned forward. The urns were spelled to muffle any sounds, smells or movement that could alert the player to where the snakes were.

"My Galleon's in that one, Nigel." Rook said and without pause lifted his hand and sank down to the bottom of the urn. There was a collective gasp when Rook's arm jerked, but when he raised his hand again there was no snake, only a golden Galleon. Rook grinned in triumph.

Nigel huffed, "I can't believe you guessed it again." He looked around and was about to open his mouth to asked for the next contester when Rook interrupted him.

"Hold on. I've my Galleon back, you should at least give me the chance to relieve you of yours."

"... what?" Nigel finally managed to convey what everyone was thinking. Juceau shook his head. From the first time Rook walked into his bar, he knew the man was going to get himself killed. Himself or everyone else, it could go either way, it was too soon to tell. The man was utterly insane sometimes and remarkably serious at other times, which was a dangerous combination Juceau knew.

"I can't exactly buy the next round with just one Galleon. Or can I Juceau?" Rook turned aside and asked him. The tavern owner shook his head and decided to go along with this game. "You'll need two Galleons. Then again, make it three to be on the safe side." Or take it a step further.

Rook raised one eyebrow, clearly not expecting to have to collect two more coins as it wasn't that crowded yet. Then he shrugged and grinned again, "Challenge accepted!"

The wizard stood up and leaned unto the table staring at the urns below him. For a moment Juceau feared Rook would back out which would be disastrous for his growing reputation. Then again risking two or more snakebites for the pitiful reward of two Galleons? Rook raised his hand again and held it vertically before lowering it in an urn. He quickly snatched his hand back up, carrying the Galleon and two puncture wounds on his index finger. Some of the bystanders were supportively hissing in pain. Not Rook, the only indication of his discomfort was the slight tightening of his jaw.

"I believe that's two, Juceau." The dark-haired wizard said and handed him the coin. Without pausing he plunged his hand into another urn. It became clear very quickly that something was very wrong. Rook grimaced glaring at the urn. The part of his arm that was visible above it was tensing every other second.

"Get your arm out of there!" Nigel shouted alarmed. He was a nasty character even when he was well rested but the very thought of ending his non-lethal quota shocked Nigel into action.

"Can't do that..." Rook muttered and then looked around. "Um, you all might want to step back." Juceau frowned but obeyed nonetheless as did many others. The reason for it became clear the very next moment as Rook lifted his arm. The white snake had coiled itself around his hand and wrist. It hissed angrily as it seemed to realise it had company. And that meant more people to bite. The lean head rose up and if snakes were able to convey emotions, Juceau was sure it would be glaring at them. It hissed angrily and seemed to tighten itself more around Rook's wrist.

The wizard cleared his throat, clearly annoyed by this turn of events, and said evenly, "If someone could stun the snake now? My hand's detained."

A couple of minutes later the excitement had died down when everyone seemed to realise that Rook wouldn't start blathering like a fool or cackle like a farm animal. The disappointment let to another challenger and when Juceau looked up from his bar, Rook strode up to him.

"Just the man I wanted to speak. Spore missed you the other night." Juceau informed him.

"I was held up somewhere, why? Did he need someone to buys his drinks?" Rook asked amused passing the third coin without a fuss.

"That too." Juceau chuckled, pocketing the infamous Galleon and continued, "Also, he had some information about something you needed."

"Oh," Rook leaned closer as the tavern owner slipped him a piece of parchment. He read the note in silence and then burned it with a wave of his wand, "Tell him I owe him one."

Juceau nodded, "Well, I think it's time for that round now." It always amazed him how quickly free drinks disappeared from the tap. Knowing he would need a couple of more bottles he left the dark-haired wizard alone to get some from in the back. When he resurfaced, Rook was talking amiably with Valerius Borgin. The tavern owner knew it was bad for business to detest certain customers but Borgin just had a way of making that very easy. In his opinion any man that only had two moods was to be avoided and Borgin was such a man. First there was the nauseating flattery which was in direct correlation to the amount of Galleons one carried and secondly there was the repugnant despise of anyone who couldn't help him make a profit. The fact that Borgin had an awkward smile plastered on his face told Juceau that Rook made yet another friendly acquaintance tonight.

A handshake later the old shopkeeper got up and paid for his drink with a sneer. He turned around without another word and hurried to his bed. Juceau pocketed the lone Sickle and poured Rook a drink. The man gave him a grateful nod and downed it in one gulp.

"Thanks, I needed that."

"I could see." Juceau commented amused, "He makes me want to take a bath and it's not because he's unhygienic."

This caused Rook to snort. Then he sighed deeply, "Too bad I can't do what I do without him."

"Too bad he's still alive." Juceau added with a shrug. He got a shocked look from Rook and smirked, "No really there's a bet running on that. I lost ten Galleons three months ago when he closed his shop for a day. Turned out to be nothing more than a bad cold."

"That was a waste of your money. Knowing Borgin, he'll outlive us all just out of spite."

"Highly probably." Juceau agreed and then added thoughtfully, "I even think that's a bet. Talk about wasted money."

"Who's keeping score?" Rook asked interested.

"That man over there. Actually he's in the same business as you: valued artefacts. And has tons of other side-businesses of course. A few days ago he was haggling charm bracelets in Diagon Alley disguised as an old hag. If you play your cards right you might take over his clients. _Sa reputation est vraiment cassé, _completely ruined. He promised a whole lot of people a whole lot of stuff. The wrong sort of people if you get my meaning. And then there's his allegiance in the war…"

"Death Eater or pretender?"

"None of the above, one of Dumbledore's men."

"Really, in here? Juceau, I know you prize yourself in being blindly neutral, but how does he survive in here?" Rook cast a meaningful look around the tavern.

"Fletcher's good at disappearing and when that doesn't work, talking. He's okay, just know that Dumbledore's listening in to whatever you say to him. And don't lose sight of your Galleons. Other than that he's mostly harmless. Besides you know most bad deals happen outside of my fine establishment." Juceau added slightly affronted. He knew however that Rook was correct. It wouldn't surprise him if there were Death Eaters in his establishment this night. Frankly it would surprise him if there weren't any here. Now that would leave him worried.

"Speaking of bad deals. Aren't the Aurors after your head?"

Rook put his glass down carefully and frowned, "Oh, and how did I irk the Aurors?" His casual denial was quite convincing but Juceau wasn't a novice.

"I think forcefully removing one of their undercover agents might irk them a little." Juceau wiped the bar and waited patiently for Rook to come up with a retort. The man smirked behind his glass and shook his head in awe. "Really nothing passes you in here."

Juceau gave him a knowing look at which Rook just shrugged, "Well, I'm not an idiot. I calmly told the man to go home and bring back-up next time. If that has gotten the Aurors occupied then I fear for the war."

"They could arrest you."

"I don't have a Mark."

"That idiotic kid from the bus was arrested. I sincerely doubt he had one either."

"Then it's a good thing I've a safe house ready." Rook remarked and added thoughtfully, "I mentioned that to some of my customers the other day. Their reaction and the fact that even Diagon Alley these days is swamped with witches and wizards selling protection charms tells me there's business to be found."

"I thought you were in the business of valued artefacts?" Juceau quirked one eyebrow.

"I'm considering expanding in the direction of subterfuge and protection."

"Don't know if you'll find much clientele in here. Most of my _patrons_ don't mind the war."

"True, but I'm sure they all have a healthy aversion of authority no matter who's it is: the Ministry's or the Dark Lord's."

Juceau stopped wiping the bar and gazed intently at the man before him, "Rook, be careful. Dancing the rope is bad for your health. _C'est une manière vite_ to die for no one."

"I am careful, but I'm not that worried. I'm hard to kill." Rook retorted half raising his right hand. The shallow puncture marks had stopped bleeding, even so Juceau counted five individual bites. He winced, mentally recalculating what he knew about this man. He added 'high pain tolerance' to his pitiful short list.

"That particular snake wasn't lethal, Rook." Juceau countered and he didn't need to explain who exactly he meant. Rook sniggered making the tavern owner frown. That was not the reaction he was angling for.

"Sorry, sometimes you remind me of an old friend."

"Oh, and where is he now?" Juceau asked trying to be subtle about it, but it was no use. Rook just grinned being as tightlipped about his past as always.

"One day you'll have to tell me everything, my friend." Juceau shook his head a bit annoyed. The other wizard nodded seriously. "And one day I will."

Juceau sighed and rubbed the back of his head, "The thing is… You're strangely familiar Rook, sure we never met?"

"Not in this lifetime I assure you."

Their conversation died down for a while but it wasn't awkward. It was similar to the silence sometimes found between longtime friends. Juceau moved away to talk to other customers and later, much later Rook was still sitting on that same spot. He looked lost in thought holding his glass against his bottom lip like that but not taking a sip.

"Juceau," The wizard mused out loud, "who would you recommend if I was looking for someone who could design and fabricate certain customized products?"

"Are we talking illegal or not?"

Rook gave him an innocent smile that didn't fool him for a minute, "Let's just say they're not forbidden because the Ministry doesn't know."

"That customized? Mmm." Juceau pondered, "If you want quality and don't mind some creativity you could try that new shop on Diagon Alley."

"The one with all the flashy signs?"

"The one and only. And don't let the façade fool you." The tavern owner advised, "The Weasley twins are all for a good laugh, but they're shrewd business men who don't mind some good solid hard work."

"Aren't they running with the Dumbledore lot as well?" Rook raised.

"Yeah, but don't let that stop you. They come in here sometimes, fit right in with the crowd."

"I met their brother the other day. The oldest Weasley I think." The dark-haired wizard remarked.

"Oh, where?"

"Gringotts."

"Any particular reason for visiting?" Juceau subtly tried to fish for information.

"Just some work."

"You work for the Goblins?" The wizard stopped wiping the glass in his hand and stared at Rook is ill-disguised shock. The other wizard smirked.

"I'm not on their employees list if that's what you're asking. Just some solid freelancing treasure hunting."

"Treasure hunting?" Juceau echoed.

"Tracking down lost heritages. Most wizards keep their valuables in the bank, but most of them also have an additional secret vault at home with the exceptionally rare items or items they don't want the Ministry to know about. It's usually handed down from father to son, but in the last centuries family lines die out including the knowledge of the location of their homes, vaults and so on. The Goblins give me a ten per cent commission on all the things I find. As long as it isn't Goblin forged I get first pick." Rook stated proudly and Juceau noted that this was the most the man had ever spoken about himself in one go.

"But why work for the Goblins, why not keep it all for yourself?" The tavern owner inquired, truly curious for once.

"A safety measure. You never know when you need a favour from the Goblins. When that time comes it helps if they're the ones in debt."

Juceau nodded seeing the wisdom in that approach before changing the subject drastically. He'd been thinking about that the whole night ever since he saw Rook acting so recklessly with those snakes, "Speaking of safety, it's probably nothing but I've been hearing these incessant rumors of a hooded man knocking on all the wrong doors. He caught the attention of a couple of Death Eaters already, You-Know-Who may learn about him any day now."

"I've heard that the Apothecary on Diagon Alley is thinking of branching out to Muggle London with a all-herb store. What?" Rook asked when he noticed the incredulous look Juceau was giving him, "Weren't we exchanging gossip?"

"Rook."

"What?"

"Are you behind it? Because if you are you need to be careful." And help in St Mungo's psych ward, he mentally added.

"That's absurd, I would never knock. Got to put these shoulders to use." Rook smirked and ordered another drink. Juceau sighed. There were times when he could speak seriously with the dark-haired wizard. Hours after midnight, after the sixth Firewiskey was clearly not that time.

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**So, what do you think? I'm still busy with the next chapter, but it will be Harry POV this time. Please leave a review! :)**


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